


The Open Cage

by ThreeSidedOrchid



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Coercion, Dubious Morality, F/M, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Organized Crime, alpha!Jensen, crime lord Jensen, omega!Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-03-12 04:16:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3343370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeSidedOrchid/pseuds/ThreeSidedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared Padalecki is struggling to make a living as an unmated Omega when the worst (best?) thing happens to him: he gets fired. When he's made an offer that's too good to pass up, he ends up caught in the sights of notorious crime lord Jensen Ackles. Now that Jensen has seen Jared, he's not so willing to let the Omega go, but can he convince Jared to stay, especially when good cop and rival Alpha Tom Welling shows up?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Open Cage

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Crime Pays](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/98297) by Imogen-lily. 



> Written for the 2014 Reverse Big Bang on LJ, Many, Many many thanks to imogen_lily for creating amazing artwork! You should check out all of the art for the story at the link above, and leave your love in comment form! I am afraid I didn't do her work justice.  
> Many thanks as well to her for helping to brainstorm and beta the fic, and to my other beta, Ava.  
> 6/12/15: Updated with corrections to spelling/grammar etc. from the original publication. All my thanks to mznaughty01 for the additional beta! All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Contains imperfect characters and dubious morality. You may not like the good guys, or the bad guys. 
> 
> *Additional notes may be found at the end of the story for those who would like more detail about A/B/O physicality and claiming in this universe, as much is not explicitly stated in the fic.

Jared's goal is to be invisible. All his movements, his thoughts, are focused on achieving a graceful, unobtrusive efficiency that will leave customers thinking their empty plates have simply vanished, and wait staff wondering who set the next table. 

He's not very good at it. 

However hard he tries, his frame is too large to slip unnoticed between the cramped tables. He catches the subtle sniffs in his direction and the looks of pity, scorn or lust that follow. There is nothing to be done but to ignore it, let the clatter of plates and chatter of customers dim to a dull roar around him, and keep moving.

Reaching to snap up empty plates at table three, he’s jarred back into the noise of the restaurant by a patron grabbing his wrist. Startled, Jared jerks back, sending plates crashing to the floor. The grip on his wrist flexes tighter and Jared swings out, slap resonating up his arm in a shock of sensation. He stumbles back, released, tripping up against the table behind him.

When the hot blur of panic clears, it clears to a silence that hangs like the breathless pause between performance and applause. Jared's gaze swings across the shocked visages of customers, gathers the briefest impression of the man he hit (heavy stubble, sharp eyes) before his boss' voice rings out.

“Pedilacka!” Narrow face pinched in displeasure, Mr. Frewer is already weaving his way over. 

“ _Shit_ ,” Jared hisses, turning his attention to the customer. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” 

The man's cheek is flushed red from Jared's palm, but not anger. Beneath a ruffle of dark, receding hair, he shoots an incredulous look to the other man at the table. Jared doesn't need to scent him to know he's an Alpha.

Kneeling down, body wedged tight between the tables, Jared scrabbles to gather the shards of plate. “It's just, you startled me! Not that it's your fault!” 

“That's it, Pedilacka—” 

“Padalecki,” Jared corrects automatically, gaze trailing up from the floor to meet his boss' glare. “Sir—” 

“You're done. Pack up, go home, you're fired.”

“But—”

“No. This is the third time. I warned you.”

“Mr. Frewer, _please_ , I need—”

But Frewer ignores him, turning to face the Alpha.  
“I'm terribly sorry, sir. I assure you, it won’t happen again, and of course your meal is on the house. I do hope this won’t put you, or your lovely companion, off dining here? You know how emotional these Omegas can be.”

“No, of course not.” The Alpha chuckles, and the glance he casts Jared is dismissive and evaluative all at once. “It’s fine, thank you.”

A rush of anger pushes Jared to his feet. “But he—” 

“It's done,” Frewer cuts him off, gripping Jared's arm and pulling him away. “You can collect your last check tomorrow.”

Stumbling to keep up, Jared casts one glance back to see the two men watching him. He grips the broken fragments of plate tight in his hands, tilting his chin up at them before turning away.

\- - -

Jared slams out the back of the restaurant, jaw still working angrily over the last ten minutes spent arguing with Frewer, only to stop short. Leaning against the brick of the building opposite is the Alpha he slapped, smirking like he's James Dean in a suit. His friend appears less sanguine, cutting short mid-sentence to shoot Jared a distrustful look.

Jared glares at them and starts down the alley with quick strides.

“Mr. Padalecki!”

“Fuck off.” Digging his bare hands into his pockets, Jared speeds up. Winter is early this year, only October and already the sky is overcast and cold winds streak between the buildings, leaving the city feeling gray and empty. Jared's praying it's just a cold snap. His coat is only suited to southern winters and he can't afford a new one. Especially now.

“We have an opportunity for you!”

“Not interested.” 

He can hear them following as he turns out of the alley onto the street. 

“It pays!”

“I'm not a whore!” Jared yells over his shoulder, causing the woman passing by to give him a leering once-over.

“One grand for a night.”

Stopping, Jared spins on his heel to face them. “What part of I'm not a whore didn't you get?”

It's the smaller man that steps forward, tentatively, like Jared's some kind of wild animal. Jared narrows his eyes.

He's younger than his companion, with a wayward mop of dark locks and a pretty, soft face. As he steps closer, Jared’s unsurprised to scent he’s an Omega, unmated.

“We're not asking you to whore yourself out. If you'll just give us a minute to explain, you could really help us out, and make some money in the process.”

“You just got me fired and now you're asking for my help?” Jared snorts. 

“You did hit me. That's not generally considered acceptable customer service,” the Alpha interjects, his words ripe with condescension. 

“In a restaurant,” his friend adds, like it makes any difference.

“Not generally considered acceptable in a restaurant,” the Alpha amends.

For a moment, Jared is speechless, his anger stymied by this farce before it bursts forth in frustrated exclamation, “You grabbed me!”

“Please. I hardly touched you. Regardless, I’m guessing your financial outlook isn't so good at the moment—”

“Because you got me fired,” Jared growls. 

“—and you could probably use a nice grand for a few hours of work, yeah?” 

He should tell them to fuck off again, should walk away and not look back. Whatever they're offering can't be good. But he's already behind on the rent, and he needed that job. Jared's anger, which had burned so hot before, snuffs out in the face of the facts. Crossing his arms doesn't help the cold, drained feeling left in its wake, but he does it anyway. 

“What's the deal?”

“Thank you,” the Omega says, and he sounds like he actually means it, the bastard. “First, I'm Misha, this is Mark,” this, gesturing to the Alpha who raises an eyebrow at him. “And you are?”

“Jared.” Jared tightens his arms, fingers gripping the thin wool at his elbows.

“Jared. Nice to meet you. Mark’s sorry he startled you in the restaurant,”

Jared laughs, but Misha goes on undeterred, seemingly oblivious to Jared’s doubt and Mark’s unrepentant smirk.

“But, really, he was just trying to get your attention. Our boss has an event to attend tonight, the policeman's ball, and he wants a specific type to accompany him. You fit that type.”

“What,” Jared huffs, “type is that?” 

“Attractive. Strong. Omega.” Mark answers. “The temper and violence won’t be needed, if you think you can keep them under wraps for a night...”

“That wouldn’t be a problem if people kept their hands to themselves,” Jared snaps. “What exactly would your boss expect from me?”

“Have dinner, drink a little, dance a little. Maybe play up the strong Omega standing behind his even stronger Alpha thing a little, and everyone goes home happy.” 

“I don’t understand.” Jared doesn’t like admitting that, hates the rolled eyes Mark gives in response, but he’s not going to step into something he isn’t prepared for, no matter how desperate he is.

“For goodness’ sake,” Mark says. “It’s a date!”

Misha gives Mark a quelling look. “Jen has certain appearances he likes to keep up. He feels that a strong Omega standing beside him enhances his own strength. You’re very… distinctive in your build.”

Jared doesn’t cringe, but it’s a near thing. He looks away, across the street to where folks are traipsing in and out of the subway entrance, oblivious to them.

“No sex,” Misha adds, gently. “We're not asking you to do anything you don't want to. Truly, Jen doesn't expect that.”

“That’s comforting. What a gentleman. So, why'd he have to send his minions out scouting for a date?”

“Convenience. He’s a busy man and, like Misha said, he’s looking for a specific type. We normally have no trouble finding someone from our – business partners. But this is a little last minute. It was a bit of good luck that we stopped for lunch and saw you.” 

“Doesn’t seem so lucky from where I’m standing.” Tilting his head back, Jared looks up at the sky. He breathes in deeply, trying to think and only succeeding in staring blankly at the expanse of dingy, gray clouds above.  
“You really just want me to go on a date with your boss?” He asks, facing Misha again.

“Look, Jared, I admit I have some reservations,” this Misha says with a pointed look towards Mark. “We don’t know you any more than you know us, and this is _important_ , so world-enough and time, no, we'd pick someone else. But we don’t have the luxury of time.”

“A thousand dollars?” Jared questions, watching Misha and Mark closely for any signs of deceit.

“Cash, even. Do you have a tux?” Mark asks, eyeing Jared's worn jeans and hoodie doubtfully. 

“No.” And that’s not disappointment weighing Jared’s heart down, it’s not. It was too miraculous an offer to be true anyway.

“Right, then, you should text me your measurements and address so we can have something picked up.”

Vaguely confused at the turn in the conversation, Jared answers automatically, “I don't have a cell phone.” 

“Are you bloody—right, then. We'll just have to go now,” Mark declares. “Misha, let Jen know we're good, would you, love? I'll talk with you later.”

“Later,” Misha answers, turning away.

“Wait. What? I haven't agreed to do it!” He raises his voice, but Misha doesn’t even pause and Mark just looks at him pityingly. 

“But you were going to.” 

“You don't know that,” Jared mutters. 

“I do.” Mark levels a too-knowing gaze at him. “You practically begged your boss to let you keep that pathetic job. You can't afford to say no, darling, and it's written all over you.”

 

\- - - 

Dressed too early, Jared sits perched on the edge of his bed, wary of wrinkling the fine fabric. Enough hours have lapsed between the whirlwind of this afternoon that it feels distant and unreal now. Mark had hauled him uptown into a store Jared was uncomfortable just walking into. Within minutes he'd been fitted into a tux and was waiting half-stripped in the dressing room while alterations were made on-the-spot. There'd been no price tags, no mention of cost except the over-eager attendant's query if it should be added to their account. Jared had made the mistake of suggesting they just get a rental, only to earn a scornful look from Mark and the attendant. 

He'd wanted to ask for more details about tonight; who Jen was, what he was like, but in the end it had felt too rushed and awkward to ask. What information Mark volunteered was severely limited: _Just play it strong and silent, the car will be there at 5:30, be downstairs_. 

Jared fidgets, plucking at the stark white cuffs, and looks again at his watch. Another minute and he can head down. 

He wonders what the mysterious _Jen_ will think. They’d said he wanted strong, but Jared hardly thinks the man will be happy with him. Jared’s under no illusions about his attractiveness – he’s too tall for an Omega, with broad shoulders and sharp, feral features. A quiet part of him hopes Jen won’t like him at all; it’s rarely the kind Alphas that find Jared attractive. The Alphas who like Jared always want to prove they're stronger than him, take him down, show him his place.

With a sigh, he stares around his apartment. There are hints of faded glory in the gray floorboards, in the cracked and broken plaster-work details. Jared wonders what it looked like when the building was new, before everything turned rotten and yellow as old newspaper. 

Catching sight of himself in the spotted mirror, Jared looks away again quickly. Seeing himself like this, cleaned up and in new clothes, shakes loose memories he’d rather not revisit and makes it hard to breathe for their dust. 

Standing, he brushes himself down, palms carefully trying to wipe away any particle of this place before he leaves. The hallways are dim, barely lit by a single yellow bulb, the last, flickering holdout amid its extinguished companions. 

A limo's sleek, black length gleams in the fading sunlight. People never linger in this neighborhood, but those passing stare at the vehicle, watching the driver open the door for him with curiosity. Jared can see the chauffeur's eyes darting nervously down the street and forces himself to move, getting in quickly. 

The door closes behind him with a _thwump_ , too soft for the spike of anxiety that follows. Across from him sit two men, and Jared’s lips part on a gasp. 

“Jared, it’s good to see you again,” Misha says placidly, as if he’s not sitting next to the most dangerous man in the city. “Jensen, this is Jared – Jared, Jensen.”

“You…you’re…” _Jensen Ackles_ Jared’s mind jibbers. Jared’s seen him on the news standing behind his boasting lawyers with a fierce expression, seen photos of him in the society pages. But it’s the whispers that play in Jared’s head now: _’Jensen Ackles single-handedly wiped out the previous Boss’, ‘Ackles has his Omegas muted to keep them from talking about the things he does to them’, ‘He once killed a man for disturbing his meal, with nothing but a candlestick.’_

They’re rumors, nothing anyone has proof of, and some patently ridiculous, but that doesn’t stop Jared’s heart from hammering at finding himself face-to-face with the man. 

Gaze sliding up Jared and back down appraisingly, Ackles speaks, “I am.” 

Twisting his hands in his lap, Jared opens his mouth, tries to breathe past the panic.

Ackles’ lips quirk up in the barest hint of a smile. “If it helps any, you’ll be surrounded by policemen all night.”

It doesn’t help. Everyone in the city knows Ackles heads the mob, and the police haven’t been able to touch him. It doesn’t help, and all Jared can think is _Don’t say anything stupid_ , but what comes out of his mouth is, “Except here.”

He flinches as Ackles lets out a sharp laugh. 

“Mr. Ackles, I-I didn’t mean…” Jared stammers. 

“Oh, you did.” Ackles leans forward, arms resting loosely against his thighs. “Relax, sweetheart, it’s just a date. I promise you’ll get home safe and sound tonight.”

Jared should be more frightened, with Ackles closer to him in the confined space of the limo. But against all logic, his racing heart slows.

“And call me Jensen,” Ackles adds, just as his phone beeps. Leaning back, he pulls out his phone. 

Ackles seems oblivious to Jared now, tapping away at his phone, expression serious. Jared’s gaze drifts down, and even he can tell that Ackles’ tux is significantly nicer than his own, black as night and flattering every line. Outwardly, Jensen Ackles is gorgeous, with close-cropped blond hair and lush lips set against a strong jaw. It’s what’s inside that leaves Jared clenching his hands together, anxiously debating whether he could survive diving from the car. 

The minutes pass, Jensen typing, Misha just staring straight ahead – Jared assumes he’s lost in thought, but it’s kind of strange. He weighs speaking against silence, wonders whether Ackles is armed beneath his finely cut tux. Wonders how he could have been so very stupid to have agreed to this in the first place – paying his rent won’t matter when he’s dead. Or forced into prostitution.

“Are we picking someone else up?” Jared manages, when the itch of silence overrides all else.

“Sorry?” Misha blinks, awareness coming back into his gaze. “Oh. No, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Misha is lovely – smaller than Jared, with the pretty, wide eyes so popular on Omega models and stars. It doesn’t make sense that Jensen should pay a stranger when Misha is available.

His thoughts must show on his face because Misha smirks at him. “I’m not his type. Isn’t that right, Jensen?”

“Hmm?” Ackles looks up. “Yeah, you’re far too delicate. I’m afraid I’d break you,” he answers, tone dry.

“So cold.” Misha flashes Jared a grin before settling back into the sober expression that seems to be his default. “I’m not interested in a mate, Jared. There are things I want in life, and being shackled to an Alpha’s whims isn’t one of them.” He leans forward setting the air between them prickling with his energy. “Don’t you want to be someone? Make something of yourself?”

Turning away, Jared stares out the window, not noticing the city passing by outside beyond the blur of too-bright lights against the night. 

“Of course I do. I went to school… for a while.” Swallowing down still raw memories, he steadies his voice. “But I don’t see why you can’t have a family and be someone.” He shrugs, fingers tracing the curve of the door handle. “Maybe I’m selfish, I want it all.” 

There’s no response, just the soft, steady thrum of the road beneath them. Jared looks up to find both Ackles and Misha watching him. Misha’s eyes are narrowed, evaluative and almost accusatory. But it’s Ackles’ calm, thoughtful gaze that makes Jared shift and drop his hand to his lap.

“Well. I can’t fault you for that.” Misha leans back. “So. How about that local sports team?” 

Jared laughs, the small smile that lingers on his lips feeling foreign. He and Misha shift to mundane topics for the rest of the ride. It might have become comfortable, but for the fact that Ackles’ gaze stays unwavering on Jared. 

They pass the outskirts of the city, finally pulling to a stop in the park district. Jared follows Misha out, then stands there, staring up (and up) at the massive edifice of Ceder Hall, every window glowing golden warmth into the night. 

“You’ve never been here?” Ackles questions, drawing closer. 

“No. I’ve seen pictures but… I had no idea.” 

“Wait ‘til you see the inside.” 

Ackles’ voice is warm, reverent, and for a second Jared almost forgets who the man is. Then Ackles puts a guiding hand on Jared’s lower back and starts them forward.

“They’ve done an amazing job preserving it. It was built by Henry Ceder around the turn of the century. Do you know about him?”

“Um,” Jared says, distracted by the warmth at his back and the heads turning towards them as they pass others lingering outside. “He was a tycoon, made his money in coal, or trains or something?”

“Railroad steel. The man was a genius. He started with nothing and built an empire.”

“You’d better watch out,” Misha says, walking a few steps ahead of them. “Jensen will talk your ear off about it, if you let him.”

“I like history, sue me.” 

“You have a fetish for powerful Alphas. Also cowboys.”

“Shut your mouth, I do not!”

Jensen’s smiling as he says it, and Jared can’t help his own smile as they step inside.

The front hall is dominated by a grand staircase in dark wood and an intricately patterned marble floor that’s slick beneath their shoes. After their tickets and coats have been collected by the attendants, they follow the crowd through a set of doors into the ballroom. 

“This,” Jared breathes, paused on the threshold, “is unreal.”

The room is easily as long as a football field, illuminated by three massive chandeliers dripping crystals from golden limbs. One wall is lined in draped windows, but the others are set with murals – painted scenes of country dances framed out in gilded trim. Tables are arrayed around the dance floor and already the room is packed and loud with people. 

“It is, isn’t it?” Ackles watches the room a moment before turning to him, hand slipping into place against Jared’s back. He gives a nod to Misha, who steps away into the crowd. “Let’s go.”

\- - -

They drift from group to group, making slow progress across the room. Ackles seems to know everyone and they can hardly step from one group before they’re pulled into the next. Half the attendees, as promised, are in uniform, but that doesn’t seem to stop them from vying for Ackles’ attention. Jared catches sight of the occasional disgusted or angry looks sent their way, and a few times someone remains coldly silent to the conversation, but most greet Ackles with a welcome smile. 

Jared’s role is easy, standing at Ackles’ side and only speaking on the rare occasions someone speaks directly to him. Most often he’s spoken about, not to, the Alphas giving him an once-over before commenting to Ackles. It’s nothing he’s not heard before: how un-omega like he is, how much fun it must be to put him in his place. Kinder folks define his ugliness as an ‘unusual beauty’ which leaves Jared feeling more awkward and embarrassed than the blunter comments. He can’t bring himself, in these moments, to meet the eyes of the Betas and Omegas in the crowd, too afraid of the pity he might find.

If he notices that Ackles’ hand flexes against his back with the comments, drawing Jared in closer, then he dismisses it – he cannot read the meaning of the gesture behind Jensen’s stoic expression. 

“Such charming company here tonight,” Ackles murmurs, guiding him, at last, to a table just in front of the dais. 

“I’m used to it.” Their table is mostly empty at the moment, save the couple across from them speaking quietly. 

“Are you?”

Jared meets Ackles’ eyes a moment before pretending fascination with the menu card on his plate. “I’ve heard worse, Mr. Ackles.”

“I’m sure you have. And it’s Jensen.”

He sounds like he’s about to continue, but they’re interrupted by the _ting-ting-ting_ of silver on glass and a call for folks to take their seats. Their table fills in a flurry of nods and quiet hellos as the speeches begin. 

Dinner is served during the speeches – a parade of dishes from appetizer to salad, entree to dessert, all carefully plated and better than anything Jared has eaten in a year. He tries to eat slowly, but it’s clear he’s not fooling anyone as Ackles – Jensen – lifts Jared’s empty dessert plate away to replace it with his own. 

Blushing hotly, Jared stares at the untouched cake. When he doesn’t move to eat it, Jensen slips the fork from his hand. He slides a bite of cake onto the fork, lifting it up in offer. 

“I’m fine, thank you.” 

“Indulge me?” Jensen asks, resting his free hand lightly over Jared’s on the table.

Jared glances at Jensen from the corner of his eye, wishing his hair weren’t slicked back for the evening so it would cover part of his flush. But Jensen’s expression is earnest, not mocking. Tentatively, Jared lets his lips close around the bite.

It’s strange. Jared hasn’t been fed by an Alpha since high school, and never where the Alpha took such pleasure from it as he can see in Jensen now. It’s an old custom, out of fashion since the Omega rights movement. Certainly not one he should be enjoying in public with a near stranger (with _Jensen Ackles_ his mind reminds him furiously). The others at the table are studiously not watching, turning to each other and speaking too loud. 

And yet. Maybe it is Jared’s loneliness getting the better of him, but beneath the awkwardness, he finds something comforting in each slow, methodical bite Jensen offers him.

Jensen doesn’t say anything as they finish, only sets the fork down and settles back, leaving Jared feeling unmoored. Looking out at the room, Jared searches for something to anchor him. 

“I thought Misha would be sitting with us?” he asks, watching the couples who’ve taken to the dance floor now that music has replaced the droning speeches.

“We’ve found it works best to split up at these kinds of events. Divide and conquer.” 

“Jensen, darling!” someone calls before Jared can think of a response. They look up and Jared inhales at the sight of Mayor Wingfield and his Omega approaching.

“I haven’t seen you in _months_ , have you been hiding from me?” the Omega accuses, his thin face betraying his seriousness through a plethora of attractive laugh lines.

Following a few steps behind, his Alpha smiles indulgently. 

“Hide from you? Never.” Jensen smiles, standing to take the Omega’s outstretched hands briefly. “Always a pleasure. This is Jared. Jared, Sebastian and Peter Wingfield.”

Jared stands, hiding his surprise when Sebastian doesn’t hesitate to shake hands before his Alpha. He’s not sure why he’s surprised; he remembers the flurry of articles when the Mayor announced their mating. A lot of folks had been of the opinion that he should have gone with a younger mate, one still able to bear, and certainly one more traditional.

“My, aren’t you a tall drink of water.” 

“Be gentle, Sebastian, this is our first date.” 

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” the Mayor remarks, his arm going around Sebastian’s waist. 

“Don’t be mean to me.” Sebastian pouts – there’s no other word for it – and tilts his chin up to kiss his Alpha. 

It’s sweet, the way they both curl towards the other, like plants seeking sun. Jared wants to smile at their love, but a tendril of bitter jealousy pulls him back, leaving him feeling a little sick at himself.

“Oh!” Sebastian exclaims as they separate. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Jensen. Harley Manlin, he’s—” He turns his head to search the crowd. “—just over there.”

“Sure.” Jensen turns to Jared. “Will you be okay here a few minutes? I don’t want to leave you, but I’d rather not drag you across the room again for more boring small talk.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Thanks.” 

After Jensen is led away, Jared realizes that everyone else at their table has gone, too. He sits down, feigning interest in watching the dancers waltz across the floor as his thoughts drift. 

He lets them drift too far, not noticing the man that approaches until a ‘hello’ interrupts his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Its fine,” Jared says, chuckling in embarrassment. 

The man is classically handsome, like the Alphas in the black and white films Jared’s mom would sigh over, all dark hair, strong jaw and kind eyes. His police uniform suits him well. He smiles at Jared, holding out a hand. “Detective Tom Welling, 6th precinct.”

“Jared Padalecki… precinct-less?” 

“Jared,” Tom says, a considering rumble to his tone that makes Jared blush. “You’re with Ackles, I noticed?”

“I am tonight.”

He doesn’t realize the implication until Tom’s eyebrows go up, mirth flickering in his eyes.

“Oh, no, I mean, this is our first date, I guess.”

“You guess?” Tom sits down in Jensen’s seat, pulling the chair in closer to the table.

“Um.” Jared hesitates, debating the wisdom of admitting how he got here, finally shrugging helplessly. “I guess. You know how first dates are.”

“I do. I doubt I’d have left you sitting alone on our first date, though.”

“It’s not a big deal.” Jared’s voice wavers more than he’d like, torn between some ridiculous urge to defend Jensen and knowing that Tom is just being kind.

“Have you known Ackles long?”

“No, not at all.” There's an edge to Tom's question, something sharp and dangerous that makes Jared want to change the subject. “So… you’re a detective?”

“I am, and I’m going to put Ackles away.”

Jared blinks, taken aback. 

“I’m sorry, I can be a little abrupt, I know. But too much of our city protects him.” He looks out at the ballroom, frustration clear. “I won’t hide the truth. You must know he’s a criminal, Jared. Drugs, prostitution…” 

“We just met, I don’t actually know anything about him.” Shifting uncomfortably, Jared glances away when Tom’s expression turns reproving. 

“Well. Since you’ve clearly been living in a cave,” Tom says after a moment, tone more jovial. “Maybe you’d do me the honor of a dance? Stretch out those long legs of yours?” He smiles.

“I’m not sure—” 

“Nope, he can’t leave you all alone like this and expect you not to have any fun, I won’t have it.” Standing, Tom holds his hand out to Jared with a grin.

Tom seems like a nice guy, and any other time Jared would be flattered to have his attention. But he’s supposed to be here with Jensen, and while Jensen promised Jared would get home safe tonight, Jared can’t help being a little afraid of what might happen if he doesn’t fulfill his role of the dutiful date. 

“Welling,” Jensen’s voice, cold and dry, cuts in.

Tom and Jensen regard each other, faces stony. 

“Ackles.” 

“You have such trouble finding a date tonight, you felt the need to poach mine?” Jensen asks, his teeth flashing sharp through a smile.

“He seemed a little lost, abandoned here all by himself. Thought we might dance and I could show him what a real date is like.”

Jensen’s eyes narrow briefly at the barb. He looks at Jared and it’s a little like being caught in the gaze of a lion, trapped and knowing there’s no way to flee and no chance of winning a fight. After a moment though, Jensen’s expression relaxes. 

“I’m sorry I was gone so long.”

“It’s no big deal, really,” Jared answers, voice barely carrying.

“So, how about that dance?” Tom beams at Jared.

Surprised, Jared stares. He looks to Jensen. 

“He doesn’t control you, Jared.”

Despite the palpable tension between the two Alphas, when Jensen looks back at Jared his expression is calmly neutral. 

Jared stands up, unable to think clearly with both men towering over him. Tom smiles.

“It was nice meeting you,” Jared says, and Tom’s smile dims. “And thank you, but I think I just need some fresh air.”

“I’ll take you outside,” Jensen offers immediately, and he doesn’t look smug or triumphant as expected, only pleased.

“It was nice meeting you, too, Jared.” Tom shakes Jared’s hand. Tom’s grip is firm, tempered by a gentle sweep of his thumb over Jared's wrist. “I hope we meet again.”

They don’t speak as they cross the room this time. Watching from the corner of his eyes, Jared can see the warning looks Jensen gives those gearing to approach them. It’s a little awing, the power that Jensen radiates. Being in its radius sets Jared’s skin buzzing pleasantly.

Jensen leads him to the front hall, breaking left, away from the front entry, and to an alcove hidden behind the stairs. It’s a small space, hidden in the shadows and surrounded by dark wood, with a single narrow door. 

“Is this okay?” Jared whispers. He darts a look to the attendants manning the main doors.

“It’s fine, just a way to the back gardens.” Jensen laughs, unlatching the door and pushing it open. 

“Oh. Okay.” Jared makes to step forward, but Jensen turns, holding the door behind him and blocking the way. 

“And if I said it wasn’t, what would you do?” Smirking, Jensen leans forward into Jared’s space, close enough for Jared to feel the heat of his breath. “Turn me in? Or be a bad boy, too?”

A chill from the cracked door skitters over Jared’s skin. He inhales, smelling dust and wood oil and Jensen’s musk. Feeling giddy and irreverent, Jared licks his lips and drawls, “You gonna open the door or just keep talkin’?” 

Jensen is _stunning_ when he laughs, his face open and joyful. He grabs Jared’s shirt, hauling them both through the door and out into the night air. 

“Oh, I like you,” Jensen says, when they’ve stumbled to a stop. He reaches up, fingers brushing Jared’s jaw. “Cheeky Omega.”

Jared freezes, his pleasure from a moment ago evaporating. There’s nothing threatening in Jensen’s posture, and if Jared’s honest, he doesn’t mind the firm touch on his jaw – likes it, even. But he’s not prepared for more, doesn’t know how Jensen might respond to a refusal, and is only now realizing he’s allowed himself to be isolated with the man.

With a wink, Jensen taps Jared’s cheek and steps away, putting some distance between them. 

Breathing slowly, Jared collects himself and takes in his surroundings. It’s cold out, but without the wind of earlier it’s bearable. They’re on a wide patio, shallow stairs leading down on both sides to an expanse of gardens behind the estate. Just beyond the distant black fringe of trees, the city’s skyline rises, its lights so bright the stars hide for shame.

“You mentioned you were in school?” Jensen leans against the balustrade, looking out at the skyline. 

“Yeah, Holyoke. For a few years, at least.” Jared sighs, stepping up beside him. 

“Didn’t finish?” 

The question sets Jared’s stomach twisting. Most don’t ask, uncaring and unsurprised. He laughs, the sound more bitter than he hoped. “You know how we Omegas are.” 

“Hmm.” Jensen eyes him, but lets the subject drop. “I love this view, the whole city spread out.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s a slut, tarted up and begging to be taken.”

“That’s… I’m not sure the tourist committee would approve your description.”

“You tellin’ me not to quit my day job?” Jensen smiles.

“I know a busboy position that just opened up, is all I’m saying.”

It gets remarkably easy, after that. Jared doesn’t miss the way Jensen steers the conversation, but he’s grateful for it. He tells Jensen about wandering the free galleries on his days off, tries to convey the way art appeals to him in all its forms. He learns Misha wasn’t kidding; Jensen waxes almost poetic on several historical Alphas, and admits a penchant for cowboy films.

He’s not sure how long they’re out there, an hour maybe, before Jensen’s phone starts buzzing with texts.

Checking them, Jensen taps out a short response, then looks at Jared.  
“Misha’s done, so we’re ready to head out.”

“Oh.” Jared doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, really. It’s not that he’s forgotten what this is, he was just enjoying the conversation. It’s not something he gets a lot of, these days. 

They make their way inside to collect their coats. Jared can see the ball still in full swing, but they pass through the hall and out the front to the waiting limo. 

Misha’s already inside, slumped in the corner of the bench seat.

“Not so bad as expected?” He smiles tiredly as Jared climbs in.

“Hey now,” Jensen chides, settling in opposite Jared. “I’m an awesome date. How’d it go?”

“Good. Six new. I sent you the info.”

“Excellent.” 

There’s silence as the limo pulls away, speeding them back towards the city. Jensen’s checking his phone again, but slides it away after a few minutes to look at Jared.

“I appreciated your company tonight.”

“Um,” Jared says, aware of Misha watching the exchange through tired eyes. “Thanks. I had a good time.”

“Good. Misha, I’d like to get him moved to my place, and I figure a more appropriate wardrobe—”

“Hold up,” Jared says, his ease evaporating in a wave of alarm. “What?”

Jensen smiles at him. “I’m extending your contract.”

“And what if I don’t want it extended?” Jared snaps, annoyed and not a little frightened. 

“Jared.” Jensen’s smile drops. “Consider what I’m offering you here—”

“It doesn’t sound like you’re _offering_ me anything!”

“I’m _offering_ you a business deal. Listen, I need someone at my side for things like tonight and more. You were good this evening, you’ll do well, I think. And you’ll get paid, plus room and board.”

“Room and board at your place. In your bed?” 

“The room, yes. Bed, let's call that optional. I won’t deny I'd love to see you wrapped around my knot.” He quirks a smile and Jared bristles. “But force isn't my thing. Everything we do will be entirely consensual.”

Jared curses himself for being so stupid, falling for Ackles’ pretty manners. “No.”

“This would benefit you, too, you know.” 

“Being at your beck and call, controlled by you? I find that hard to believe.”

“I’m particular about the things I want, it’s true, but I’m not obsessive, Jared. You’d have good pay for very little work and lots of free time to do what you like.”

The limo pulls to a stop in front of his building and Jared reaches for the handle. “I'm not interested.”

“It’s not any different than tonight. Do you really think you’re going to find a better job offer than this?” 

There’s no anger in Jensen’s tone, just calm rationality. Coupled with the reminder of his job loss earlier, it sets Jared’s blood boiling. 

“Fuck you,” he growls, throwing the door open and scrambling out. He turns, bending down to meet Jensen’s eyes. “I agreed today because I didn’t have any option, but I told your flunkies I’m not a whore. I won’t sell myself to you, whatever you want to call it.” 

Slamming the door shut, Jared storms inside.

\- - -

Jared’s feet ache. If he’s honest, all of him aches. A day walking, making inquiries at almost every place passed, and nothing. It’s the same tune he danced to when he first ran to the city. No one wants to hire an unmated Omega, no matter what progress they’ve made or how many studies prove they’re no less able, less reliable, or more emotional than Alphas or mated Betas and Omegas.

Well, not no one. Some are willing, but only if Jared is, too.

Maybe he should have just taken Jensen up on his offer – at least the man was upfront about what he wanted. 

Unlocking his apartment, Jared pauses. He rests his forehead against the door, closing his eyes, too weary to face the dismal, empty room.

Only, it’s not empty. 

“What the hell?” 

“Just as charming as I remember.” 

Jared swallows. Neither Mark nor the two, huge men standing behind him look any too pleased. _This is it,_ Jared thinks, _this is how I die, killed for mouthing off to a crime lord._ “What—what are you doing here?” 

Mark's suit from yesterday is gone, replaced by a plain white t-shirt and fitted jeans. His jacket is folded over his hands, the position emphasizing the muscles in his arms and the dragon tattoos riding down them. 

Mark smirks at him like he can see the images of torture playing in Jared’s head. “You forgot your pay,” he says, tossing a roll of cash that Jared catches on instinct. “And you need to come with us.”

The wad of money clutched awkwardly between his palms feels heavier and more real than anything else in his life the last two days. “Come with you where?”

“Now, don’t you worry your pretty head about that,” Mark answers, sauntering towards him, his men lumbering silently behind. He swings his jacket on, one side thumping down heavier against his chest than the other. “Just… clean up a little and meet us downstairs.”

He stops beside Jared, leaning in a little like he's imparting a secret. “You have five minutes. If I have to come back up here I’m going to be… displeased.”

\- - -

Squeezed between the two goons in the backseat of a town car, Mark staring him down from the seat opposite, Jared fidgets. It’s getting a little hard to breathe past the panic clawing its way up his throat. Heart racing, he tries to ask what’s going on, but every time he opens his mouth, Mark deters him with a _tsk_ or a shake of his head.

He’s just about to try again when the car pulls to a stop. Not, as expected, in front of an empty lot or warehouse, but on a normal street, in front of a strip club. The sign proclaims it _The Cage_ in bold script, and Jared smothers a hysterical laugh.

Mark leads them in, Jared trailing between him and the goons like a duckling. The club is closed, barely lit by a few scattered lights. There’s a gleaming bar on one end, and two stages at the other. It’s clearly high end, outfitted in copper and dark woods from the copper stripper poles to the wooden tables and the buttery leather chairs. There’s no sound as they cross the main room, beyond the clip of their shoes against the wood floor. 

They pass through a door at the opposite end of the bar, into a narrow hallway that forks: a darker path to the right where Jared catches an ‘employees only’ door, and a straight path lined with closed, numbered doors. 

Stopping, Mark leans forward and pushes one of the numbered doors open. He gestures in invitation. “After you.”

The lighting is soft, casting a candlelight glow over the same copper and wood furnishings as the main room. Jensen looks up at him as Jared steps nervously into the room, and a woman Jared doesn’t know turns to watch. Her features are heavy, severe, but not un-pretty, like an artist carved her with love but too heavy a hand.

“Jared, welcome. Have a seat.” 

The only open seat is beside Jensen on the couch, the woman occupying the sole chair. Jared feels Mark come up beside him, the goons behind, and knows he’s trapped. He doesn’t move, feet frozen in fright. Unable to run, Jared’s body decides to run the only thing it can: his mouth.

“Look, I know I was rude to you but I don’t think that’s enough cause to – and I’m sorry! I mean, not sorry I said no, but I could have said it better – and really I’m sure there are plenty of Omegas, actually pretty ones, who would happily take your knot, even if it does mean never speaking again – and it’s not like anyone was there other than Misha and you, so I didn’t damage your reputation or anything, but you’ve got a lot of witnesses here, you know, of course you know, and—”

“Stop!” Jensen barks.

Clamping his mouth shut, Jared feels his face start to burn in horror. He crosses his arms, shoulders curling in. He is going to die, and his last words will be idiotic.

Beside him, Mark huffs a laugh. It’s barely audible, but Jensen’s gaze snaps to him, eyes narrowed.

“You got something to tell me, Mark?”

Jared looks over, the fear jangling his nerves receding slowly as he takes in Mark’s amused expression.

“I couldn’t resist. He did hit me.”

“You… made me think… as a joke?” Jared says in disbelief. “You fucking asshole.”

Mark shrugs agreeably, amusement still lighting his eyes.

“Enough,” Jensen intercedes, before Jared’s anger can work itself over the relief of knowing he’s not going to be killed. “Mark, get out.”

Signaling to his men, Mark turns to leave. 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t come near me for the rest of today,” Jensen adds, voice low.

When Mark and his men are gone, Jared turns back to face Jensen.  
“What the hell is wrong with you people?” 

“I’m sorry for that. Mark can be too petty for his own good sometimes. Sit, please.” Jensen slides slightly from the middle of the couch to open a space for him.

“I’d rather stand.” 

“Jared,” Jensen says wearily. “Sit down.”

Slowly, Jared moves to sit, perching just at the edge of the seat, hyper-conscious of the scant inches separating him from Jensen.

“I’d like you to meet Ms. Ferris, the manager here.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Her title is a bit unexpected, given that she’s a Beta. Jared shifts in his seat, aware of how poor his ragged sweater and jeans must look compared to her tailored suit. 

“You, too. From that little drama I gather you weren’t informed why you’re here?” Her hair, blond but for a touch of gray, shifts as she speaks, revealing a well-kept claiming mark high on her neck. 

“Um, no, sorry.” 

“Tell me, have you ever tended bar?”

“No... What is this?”

“Not the brightest crayon in the box, are you?” she asks, amused. “It’s a job interview.”

\- - - 

Jared has to walk the twelve blocks home later, hands wedged tight into his pockets to keep warm. He barely notices the shift as well-kept blocks are replaced by dirt and decay, too lost in his own thoughts. 

He has a job. Tending bar at an upper-class joint, strip club or not, is far better than he could have hoped to get on his own. Ms. Ferris hadn't seemed at all concerned with his sex or status, only asking about his previous experience, and her offer had been more than fair for someone like him. Enough for food. Enough to catch up the rest of his rent. Enough, if he's smart about it, to get someplace better, eventually.

He should be walking on air. But. Jensen Ackles got him a job, at one of his clubs.

 _“I promise you,”_ Jensen had said, pressed close in the dim room while Ms. Ferris was getting the paperwork, _“there are no strings attached here, except that it affords me a chance to convince you.”_

 _“What does that mean?”_ Jared had barely been able to voice the question, feeling lost and uncertain between the job offer and his fear of repercussions if he refused. Jensen had reached forward, tilting Jared’s chin up lightly until their eyes met.

 _“It means, you do your job. I'm a patient and practical man, Jared, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to take every opportunity to convince you to accept my proposal.”_ Jensen had leaned forward then, pressing a chaste kiss to Jared's jaw that had made Jared inhale sharply. 

While Jared appreciates Ms. Ferris making it clear that she was the one hiring him, not Jensen, he can't help but question the validity of it. Even so, Jensen's words, knowing his intentions, make something warm and sharp twist just below Jared's ribs. Anxiety for what's to come, Jared knows. He should have turned it down, but he can't afford to pass up such a job.

It feels like yesterday all over again.

\- - -

Ms. Ferris starts him slow. During the early hours he practices drinks with the bartenders on shift, but once things pick up he’s on grunt work. He keeps the bar stocked, the glasses cleaned, runs water and coffee to the dressing room behind the stage. 

Most of the staff are outspoken Betas and Omegas who like to tease him for his shyness in the face of their short skirts and tight pants (or less, on the dancers). A few of the bartenders and the bouncers are Alphas, but none of them give Jared a second glance. The Alpha clientele is a different story, but when separated by the bar they’re too far to scent him and most presume he’s an Alpha thanks to his unnatural height.

He hasn’t seen Jensen since the interview.

All in all, two weeks in and it’s not bad. Jared would even say he likes it, and the weekly check coming in alone is enough to keep his spirits up.

Up on stage, Genevieve and Carrie are warming up the early crowd with slow gyrations to a heavy beat. Early hours still, but already things are getting busy. The waiters and waitresses are darting bar to table with increasing frequency, fringed metallic dresses and tops glinting in the low lights like fish in the shallows.

“Jared!” Danneel huffs.

“I know! Almost done! We were out of chilled glasses.” He sets the last of the needed glasses on a tray beside the pitcher of beer. Lifting the tray, he slides it carefully onto the bar for her. 

“Thanks.” She grabs the heavy tray, lifting it with a casualness that belies her slim arms.

Jared smiles, watching her turn away, red curls swinging, until his gaze is caught by a sharp motion further out on the floor.

At one of the tables, not too far out from the bar, Osric, face pinched, is saying something to a customer. Brief as Jared’s been here, he’s already seen a few instances of customers touching the wait staff and earning themselves quick and firm reprimands. 

The customer grins and replies, his hands reaching out to grab Osric by the waist and pull him closer. Struggling, Osric pushes against the man’s arms, but doesn’t break free.

Jared looks towards the door for the bouncers who stand sentry there. One of them looks to be watching another part of the room, but he can see the other watching the altercation dispassionately. Ms. Ferris, he knows, is in the back office handling paperwork.

The man has Osric close now, trying to get him down onto his lap.

Jared rounds the bar, halfway to them before he’s even realized he’s moved.  
“Hey!” he snaps, long strides eating up the ground between them. “Let him go!” He pulls his shoulders back, puts as much force into his words as he can.

Osric freezes in his struggles, looking up at Jared with wide eyes. 

“Hey, now,” the man says, smile still in place as Jared stops before him. “We’re just having a little fun.”

“I doubt that. Fun or not, there’s no touching the staff. Let him go, now.” 

The Alpha bristles, pushing Osric away from him and standing. People nearby have grown quiet, turning from the stage to watch.

“You don’t know who I am, so I’ll forgive your rudeness this once.”

He can smell the man, the stench of beer and mated Alpha making his nose scrunch in distaste. “I don’t give a fuck who you are, you don’t touch the staff.”

“Omega?” The man sniffs, a flash of disbelief crossing his features before a smile slimes into place. “Oversized thing like you, I bet you hardly ever get a knot big enough to satisfy you. You jealous? Wanna take his place?”

“If I did want a knot, it wouldn’t be that shriveled, moldy thing between your legs.” Jared shivers in revulsion, while the Alpha’s face turns an apoplectic red.

“I’m good friends with Jensen Ackles, you little slut! Owner of this dive? We’ll see how you feel about the rules when you’re no longer employed!”

“Go home to your mate, you lecherous—”

“Okay, I think that’s enough,” Ms. Ferris says, suddenly there, flanked by a bouncer and a nervous looking Osric. “Jared, go to the back. I’ll be there in a moment.”

The Alpha gives him a triumphant look that Jared returns with a sneer before walking away.

He spends anxious minutes in the back, pacing the tiny storeroom and doing mental calculations for how long he can survive on his pay to-date, before Ms. Ferris shows up with Osric in tow.

“Jared, thank you!” Osric says, running up to hug Jared quick and tight. He pulls back, looking down at the floor and quietly adds, “Really. Thanks.”

“Sure,” Jared answers, uncomfortable with the gratitude. “No problem.”

“You did well, Jared. I’m not sure antagonizing him was the best approach, but you did the right thing,” Ms. Ferris says, leaning against the wall. 

Osric’s eyes dart between them.

“Thanks,” Jared sags a bit in relief. “The bouncer—”

Holding up a hand to stop him, Ms. Ferris grimaces. “I know. It’s being handled. Thanks, Jared.”

“You were really great!” Osric pipes.

“Now, I’m sorry to rush you two, but I need you both out there.”

\--

“I hear you’re a hero.”

Crouched down below the bar, Jared nearly drops the glasses he’s restocking. He stumbles to a stand.

Jensen grins at him from over the bar, suit and tie immaculate. 

“He is, he really is!” Osric says, practically vibrating in excitement beside Jensen. “He was bad-ass, Mr. Ackles!”

“I’m sorry I missed it.”

“Missed what?” Danneel asks, setting her empty tray on the bar and passing an order list over to Jared. “Hi, Jensen.” She smiles, close enough that her chest brushes against Jensen's arm.

“It was no big deal,” Jared says, blushing. He stares at the order list, though his brain refuses to translate the scribbles on it into words.

“No big deal!” Osric’s eyes go wide like Jared’s betrayed him. “That guy was all over me, Jared. The things he said before you got there…” He shudders. “You deserve a reward.”

Jensen’s eyes light up, and Jared likes Osric, he really does, but he kind of wishes the kid would just shut up.

“That’s an excellent idea. I’ll have to take Jared to dinner as thanks for keeping my staff safe.”

“Oh, I'm sure that's not necessary,” Danneel says, smiling at Jensen. “Jared's just a nice guy.”

“I couldn’t make you do that,” Jared tries, glaring at Jensen’s smile and Osric’s bounce. “I was just enforcing the policy—”

“Oh no, I insist. What night are you off?” 

“Um. I’m not sure—”

Leaning onto the bar, Jensen murmurs, “You know I can just give you a night off.”

Jared gets caught in his gaze a moment, his stupid heart beating faster at the easy surety in Jensen’s voice, the effortless power he carries. “Tuesday,” he answers, damning himself before the word is even out. 

“It’s a date, then.” Jensen winks. “For tonight, I’ll be in room six handling some business with the guys. You can practice your drink mixing with us for the evening.”

“I—”

“I’ll have a whiskey, neat.” He raps his knuckles on the bar, already walking away. Jared stares at him a second before Danneel's snapped, _“My order, Jared?”_ pulls him back.

\- - -

Jared’s a little sleepy at work on Sunday. He had the closing shift last night, crawling into bed at three am and back out at ten, just so he doesn’t feel the day is entirely wasted. Ms. Ferris has him in early today to take inventory and do a full clean on the bar.

He’s a little sleepy, and there’s hardly anyone on-site this early before opening, so he can be forgiven for not noticing the sound of voices at the bar until he stumbles out of the storeroom and sees Misha and a crying girl.

“Oh! Sorry!”

“No, it’s fine,” Misha says. “We’re the intruders. Please just go on with whatever you need to do.”

Feeling awkward, Jared nods and picks the sink at the end farthest from them to start. But though they both keep their voices down, he can still hear every word.

“You knew the deal. For god’s sake, why did you stop taking them?” 

“He said,” the girl hiccoughs through her tears, “he said he loved me.”

Pouring scouring powder in the sink, Jared glances over. The girl is tiny, with bottle-blond hair, a tank top, and shorts that barely cover her ass. 

“And you believed him.” It’s not a question, but there’s a bitter note of disappointment in Misha’s tone. “That was stupid.”

Jared scrubs a little harder at the sink. She could be a dancer, but then Ms. Ferris would be here. She’s a prostitute, Jared realizes, and wishes he hadn’t come out of the storeroom.

“He didn’t love you enough to mate you. Didn’t even sleep with you frequently enough to change your scent. I thought you were smarter than this.” Misha's tone holds no sympathy, and it makes Jared grit his teeth.

“I know! I know it was stupid, but please, you have to help me.”

“I don’t have to do anything. I’ll give you a grand, that’s the policy and you know it.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she sniffles brokenly.

“If you have any family I suggest you try them first. It will be easier for you if you have a support network. If that’s not an option.” Misha sighs. “Then try club ‘Oh’ on fifth. They might be hiring.”

“Thank you!” 

“That’s not a recommendation – you have to get the job on your own. And you know you can’t come back, right? Not even if you give it up.”

“I know,” she whispers.

There are a few words of goodbye, then the girl is breezing past Jared and out the door. 

“I know it’s not my place,” Jared says, when biting his tongue becomes too much. “But couldn’t you have helped her out a little more?”

“You’re right, it’s not your place.” Misha’s gaze snaps to him. “Why should I be responsible for her stupidity?”

“She’s one of _yours_ , isn’t she? Yours and Jensen’s. Forced to—”

“No!” Misha actually steps forward, like he wants to hit Jared, before visibly reining himself in. “There is no force, Jared. You’re awfully interested in things that are none of your business, so let me explain it to you.” 

Leaning back against the sink, Jared crosses his arms and nods for Misha to go on.

“These Betas and Omegas, the escorts I manage for Jensen, they come to us already in the life – they line up to work for us. They beg. They earn more than you in a week, and that’s one customer a night compared to before when they’d have to serve five or more just to get by. We give them birth control, require it, along with condoms, actually, which isn’t something most could afford on their own. You want to tell me I owe that girl more? She chose to stop taking her birth control, she let him fuck her without protection – she knew the rules, and she broke them, because she got emotional over a _client_.”

“But, still…” Jared says, weakly. 

“Still, nothing. She’d been with us for years. If she were smart she could have had a decent nest egg by now – a lot of them do. Others blow it all as fast as it comes in. Should I be holding their pay, like a real pimp, keeping it from them unless I think it’s for something worthwhile?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Blushing, Jared looks at the floor. He can practically hear Misha thinking in the silence.

“You’ve got a big heart, Jared, I get it. But Jensen isn’t so evil as rumors would have you believe, and you’d do well to be sure of things before you open your mouth. He takes care of his people, better than most legitimate businessmen. Speaking of which, this is for you.” 

Misha slides a cellphone across the bar. Jared stares at it warily.

“Jen likes his people to be reachable,” Misha says, leaving when Jared remains silent too long.

“But I’m not his,” Jared says eventually, to the empty bar, weighing the truth of the words on his tongue.

 

\- - -

The weekend and Monday fly by, and before Jared knows it, he’s staring at himself in the cheap, spotted mirror in his apartment, doing a final check before his dinner with Jensen. 

He's donned his tuxedo pants, his least worn t-shirt, the tuxedo shirt layered open over it, and come out looking almost respectable. He just hopes wherever they’re going doesn’t require jackets.

Jensen had texted him (Jared had been annoyed, but unsurprised, to find Jensen’s name and number preprogramed in the phone) the time he’d pick Jared up, but not mentioned where they’re going. Not that it really matters, Jared supposes, as he can guess it will be someplace ripped jeans and a time-worn shirt aren’t welcome. While a few of Jared’s recent wages have gone to thrift-store shirts and pants for the bar, they aren’t nice enough for a night out. Neither are they really available to him, as he only has two shirts so far and has to alternate washing them in the sink to have something for his next shift.

A knock pulls him out of his thoughts and Jared gives a panicked last glance at the mirror before opening the door.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Jensen says warmly, giving Jared an easy once-over. 

“I didn’t know what would be appropriate.” He eyes Jensen’s tight jeans and dress-shirt. “I can change.” Jared turns away, already heading for his closet.

“No, hey.” Jensen steps inside quickly, letting the door swing closed and reaching out to touch Jared’s wrist. 

When Jared turns back to him, Jensen’s hand circles his wrist lightly, thumb stroking the sensitive skin there. “You look great. Besides.” He grins wide and cheesy. “You’re with me, and I make everyone look good.”

“You’re an idiot.” Jared laughs, tension in his chest releasing.

Jensen hums non-committedly. He steps back and it’s clear he’s ready to go until he glances around. Jared watches, mortified, as Jensen’s expression changes to disbelief and he does a slow turn to take in the whole room. Jared feels his face heat, the tension coming back full force, and looks determinedly at the door while Jensen takes in the decrepit walls, the mattress on the floor, the milk crate and electric kettle that serve as Jared’s kitchen, and every bit of grime embedded in the walls by years of miserable tenants.

“Please tell me this is a joke and you don’t actually live here.”

“Home sweet home,” Jared tries for carefree and fails miserably, voice shaking over the words. 

“You turned down—”

A knock at the door interrupts him. Jared bolts for it, grateful for the excuse. He only opens the door a crack, peeking through to see his landlord standing impatiently outside.

“Mr. Armstrong.” His heart sinks. “How can I help you?” 

“Rent, Padalecki,” Armstrong huffs. He's short for an Alpha, heavy-set with thinning hair and perpetual stubble that makes him look dirty instead of rakish.

“I know, and I’ll have the rest for you Friday, when I get paid.” 

“You’re still overdue.”

“Friday, all of it, I swear,” Jared says, conscious that Jensen can hear every word.

“You know,” Armstrong starts, and Jared cringes because he does know what that considering tone means. “I know it can be hard for you Omegas. If you’re having trouble, we could always work out an... alternative means of payment.”

“That’s very generous of you, Mr. Armstrong, but really, I’ll have the money to you Friday.” Jared closes the door just slowly enough that it won't be interpreted as a slam. He doesn't turn around, leaning his forehead against the door instead.

“You turned me down and came home to _this_ ,” Jensen hisses, disgust and anger lacing his words.

“This is what I can afford, without getting on my back. The club wages are helping a lot, I’ll be able to afford a better place in a few months—”

“A few months?!”

“Please,” Jared says to the door, defeated, “please can we just go?”

It’s silent for a long minute before he hears Jensen’s footsteps creaking closer on the ancient floor. Jared can feel the long line of their bodies next to each other as Jensen slides an arm around his waist. Jensen leans in, chin almost on Jared’s shoulder, and breathes in deeply. 

It’s possessive and presumptuous to scent him like that and Jared should get angry, push Jensen away. But he doesn’t have the energy for anger, and having Jensen’s scent blanket him so intimately is comforting in a way Jared wishes it wasn't.

“Yeah, baby boy, let’s go.” 

\- - -

“Where are we going?” They’re in the town car, Jensen pressed next to him, though there's enough room on the bench for more space.

“You’ll see.” 

Jared tries to smile, still a little off-balance from upstairs. He glances out the window, pretending not to notice Jensen’s arm across his shoulders.

“You liking the job?”

“Yeah, it’s good. Ms. Ferris is pretty great.”

“She is that. She’s pretty happy with you, too.”

For the rest of the ride, they chat about the club, the other employees, and it’s just like their first night together, when conversation flowed easily. Jared reminds himself that he shouldn’t like Jensen, but then the thought will get dragged away in the undertow of their conversation. 

\- - - 

“This is one of my favorite places.” 

Jared takes the hand Jensen offers to help him out of the limo and looks up. “It’s a pub!” 

“You were expecting something else?”

“Well… yeah. I mean, this is better, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to trying to figure out what fork to use.” Or the judgmental stares of others.

Chuckling, Jensen leads them in. “Those places are good, but they never get a simple steak quite right. It offends my Texan sensibilities.”

They seat themselves, finding a corner booth away from the bar. The place seems nice, very old-world with heavy woods and leather seats, but well-kept and quiet despite a decent crowd.

“Now that makes sense. I didn’t realize you’re from Texas, too.”

“Born and raised, all my family’s still there.”

“What brought you here, then?” Jared picks up, after a waiter has stopped by to drop off menus and take their drink orders.

“Dad’s head of the family business there.” Jensen gives him a significant look, conveying exactly what ‘family business’ means. “And isn’t planning on retiring anytime soon. I was… eager… I guess you could say, to have things my way. So I did a little research and decided to start out on my own here.”

“He… must be proud of you?” The words feel awkward, rolling heavily off Jared’s tongue.

“He is. Wish I got to see them more, though. I talk to them regularly, but it’s not the same. How about you?”

“My parents and sister are still there, but Jeff, my older brother, he’s out in the wilds of Virginia these days.” Or he was the last time Jared spoke to his family. The reminder is painful, but Jared is thankfully saved from continuing by the arrival of their waiter to take their orders. 

 

Jared moans, chewing his first bite of steak slowly. 

“I told you!” Jensen says, pointing his fork in emphasis. 

“You did. I will defer to your culinary knowledge in all things henceforth.” 

“Pretty words, you talk like that every time you get a good steak in you?”

“For steak this good, I’ll talk any way you want,” Jared says without thinking. He drops the bite on his fork, face burning red. 

“You’re killing me, baby boy.” 

Their eyes catch and Jared can practically see Jensen's offer hanging there between them. He looks down, cutting another bite. Jensen lets him stew in the awkward silence a moment before moving them to a new topic. 

 

They’re almost done with their meal when Misha shows up.

“I’m sorry for interrupting,” he starts, standing rigid beside the table. “I truly am, but it’s important.”

“What’s up?”

Misha’s eyes dart to Jared briefly, sparking a nod and ‘excuse me’ from Jensen. They move to an empty corner, and Jared watches their expressions shift in the low light. If his gaze is drawn more to Jensen’s features than Misha’s, then that is only for him to know.

They come back after only a few minutes, Jensen settling into his seat. After another apology for the interruption, Misha is just starting to say goodbye when a man steps up next to him. 

“Jen! I didn’t know you were here, man.” The man is compact, but looks to be powerfully built beneath his white chef’s jacket.

Jensen smiles at the newcomer’s words, something in his eyes or the tilt of his lips speaking of a quiet amusement. “I had to show my fellow Texan here to the best steak in town. Jared, this is Chris, owner and chef of this fine establishment.” 

“Nice to meet you Jared. Misha, always a pleasure.”

And Jared thinks he understands Jensen’s amusement now, because Chris’ smile for him is polite, but it turns intimate when turned to Misha. Even Jared can read the longing in his eyes.

“Chris. It’s… nice to see you,” Misha says, and Jared has never heard him sound so unsure of himself. His body seems to tilt towards Chris, as if drawn by gravity.

Jared looks to Jensen for confirmation he’s really seeing this, getting a wink from amused eyes in response. 

“When are you gonna let me cook you dinner?” Chris asks, voice going soft, body turning towards Misha’s. Jared can see him reaching out, fingers just grazing the side of Misha’s hand.

Misha inhales, sharp and deep, like coming up from water. “I have to go,” he blurts, turning away abruptly.

When he’s gone, Chris turns back to Jared and Jensen. “So,” he says, any disappointment well-hidden. “You like the food?”

\- - -

After dinner, they pick up coffees from a nearby shop Jensen swears by, then wander with them down the street in the cool, night air. 

“Don't tell me, you're friends with the coffee guy, too?” Jared teases, enjoying the warmth of the cup in his hands.

“Nah, just Chris. He's a good guy – a good friend. We've been friends since high school. He followed me out here, after he finished culinary school.” 

Jared pauses them before a tiny gallery, trying to make out the art displayed in the window despite the dim light. 

“Ah. Is he...” Trailing off, Jared searches for some way to ask if Chris is a criminal, too, without being insulting, but Jensen picks up on his meaning quick enough. 

“No. Chris and I don't do business together.” Jensen stands next to him, facing the street while Jared's bent slightly to look in the window. “I wouldn't allow it, even if he were interested. It would be too dangerous for him.”

Straightening, Jared glances at Jensen from the corner of his eye, watching the way he scans the street. “But it's not for you? For your employees?”

Jensen frowns. “There's some risk to anyone who knows me. But I do what I can to mitigate it. Chris doesn't know anything about what I do, not really. Not any more than you do.”

“That seems like a lot to keep from a close friend.” Jared doesn't know what, exactly, makes him say it. Something indefinably sad lurking in the corners of Jensen's eyes, maybe.

“It's how I keep him safe.” There doesn't seem to be anything to say to that, not when Jared can see the resolve in Jensen's features. 

They turn, by unspoken accord, to continue walking. A comfortable bubble of silence builds between them and the laughing, chattering passerby. Though they're not touching, every few steps Jensen's hand brushes his, and Jared doubts it's chance. Eventually their coffees are gone and they make their way back to the town car. Jared watches the streets pass by, content with Jensen pressed next to him on the plush seats. When they get to his neighborhood, the streets turn darker. There are few shops here, and none that dare to stay open past dark. Most of the apartments that are lit have a dull glow, dimmed by dirt-covered windows or heavy curtains. 

“You could stay with me,” Jensen says. “You don't have to go back there.”

“I had a good time tonight, don't ruin it?” The car pulls to a stop, but neither of them move. Jared watches their faces, dark and broken, in the window's reflection.

“Tell me why not?”

Turning, Jared breathes in at Jensen's proximity. “I told you. I won't sell myself. I don't have a lot of things left to be proud of, but not whoring myself out is one.”

Jensen sighs. “That's not what it would be.” His fingers brush Jared's thigh. “Yes, you'd live with me, because it's easier. I need someone available night and day, and it has to look like we're having sex, even if we're not. You'd have your own bed, your own space, anything that happens between us would happen because you want it, too.”

“You're still asking me to hand my life over to you—”

“I'm not. Jared, this could help you. The pay would be far better than you get now, you'd have most of your time free to do with as you like. All I ask is that you follow me in public, be strong, but devoted to my word. You could be away from this place in an instant – you can't tell me you don't want that? That your family would really rather see you stay in this slum than with me?”

“It's not like they know I live here now!” Jared exclaims, frustrated and trapped.

“How do they not know?” 

“I haven’t talked to my folks or siblings in a while.” 

“How long is a while?” 

Shrugging, Jared looks down, watching his fingers run over a seam on the seat. It feels taut and thin beneath his fingers, as if the barest pressure will break it open.

“They know you’ve left school, right?” Jensen hisses, head tilting down to try and catch Jared's eye.

It’s like a punch to the gut, and it must show on his face. Jared presses his thumb into the seam, leather yielding but not breaking beneath his pressure.

“Jared!”

“You’re not my Alpha!” he blurts. “It’s none of your business.” The words come out harsher than he intended, his own well of guilt pushing them out in a wave.

Jensen pushes himself back, his fingers beating a tattoo against the backrest, his jaw clenching before he finds words.  
“I know I’m not,” he grits, looking pained. “But what if something happens to you and they have no idea? They’re probably worried sick already.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t feel guilty and miss them every day that goes by? But I can’t. I just… can’t. It’ll break their hearts.”

“How long has it been since you've talked to them?” Jensen asks again after a long, uncomfortable moment, sounding calmer. 

“Just under two years now,” Jared admits, reluctantly. 

“Straight after you left school, then?”

Jerking, Jared looks back at Jensen. It could be a guess based on his age, but Jared doesn’t think so. He narrows his eyes, and Jensen raises his hands in defense.

“Ah, before you get pissy with me, yes, I checked you out. Of course I did. I do it with everyone. I wouldn’t be where I am today if I didn’t. Hell, I might not even be _alive_ today if I didn’t.”

“I guess you know everything about me already, no point in asking,” Jared snarls. If Jensen dug into his past then he knows Jared was kicked out, and he knows why, too. Jared crosses his arms, curling his shoulders away from Jensen and still feeling raked open, exposed.

“No, of course not.” Jensen says softly. He touches Jared's shoulder, a barely-there caress that is gone before Jared can react. “I don’t know your side of it, and something tells me there’s more to it than the files show.”

“I—” _don’t want to talk about it_ he intends to say, but instead the truth comes tumbling out. “I didn’t seduce him.”

“Well, that’s as obvious as the sun is bright.”

“Yeah?” And Jared hates the way his voice wavers, pathetically grateful for this small bit of faith in him. He glances at Jensen, weighing his expression for any ounce of mockery or deceit. 

“Yeah. So what happened?

Pulling his arms a little tighter around himself, Jared looks out the window. He tries to focus on what he can see outside, letting their reflections blur away. “We had a relationship, that much was true.”

Jared swallows. He hasn't talked about it since school, when he'd told his side over and over, trying to get anyone to believe him, to listen. “He asked me first, not that it matters, I guess, we were dating a couple of months, and he just kept wanting more. First it was sex, I wasn’t sure I was ready but… then it was my diet, and classes – he wanted to control everything. I broke it off and he... didn’t take it well.”

“He told them you seduced him,” Jensen fills in, when Jared stays quiet for too long. 

Jared nods. “Next thing I know, I’m being called to the dean’s office and thrown out for seducing a professor.” He laughs, a cracked and broken sound even to his own ears. “They didn't even pretend to listen to me, just took his word for it and that was that.”

“You said you weren’t ready. Did he touch you when you said no?”

“No!” Jared shrugs a little, saying aloud for the first time the thoughts that come back to him almost daily. “I didn’t say no. I just kind of said ‘I don’t know’ a lot and he kept going.”

“That—”

“Don’t—” Jared interrupts. “That’s on me, not him. I didn’t say no, and I could have.” 

Some days, he wishes he had, wishes he'd waited for someone who really cared for him, who he really cared for. Other days, he's glad he didn't, unwilling to admit he doesn't know if Mitch would have stopped, afraid of what it could have been.

“He's still a dick, and he should pay.” 

Jared's lips twitch in an unwilling smile. “It's a little late for that now.”

“Never too late for someone to get what they deserve,” Jensen says, and the seriousness of his tone makes Jared turn to look at him.

He stares, a little awed by the determined set of Jensen's jaw. The ever-present ache in his heart, the tight bundle of emotions too painful and complex for Jared to unravel, loosens a little.

“You gonna beat him up for me?” He jokes, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Jensen doesn't answer, tilting his head up slightly instead, his jaw flexing. Jared remembers suddenly that Jensen is not your average Alpha, that his threats carry a promise few would dismiss. “I should go.” 

Reaching for the door, Jared pauses when Jensen's sternness breaks into an exhaled half-laugh, half-sigh. Jensen reaches forward, drawing Jared's hand away from the door handle gently. He touches Jared's chin, turning Jared to meet his eyes. 

“Always so eager to fly away from me, Jaybird.” 

Jensen's breath is warm, his lips plush when they touch Jared's. The kiss is soft and undemanding, a delicate coaxing that makes Jared's heart race until his lips part on a stuttered breath. He grips at Jensen's elbow, the fine fabric creasing between his fingers. 

Jensen breaks the kiss, tilting his head down to Jared's neck and inhaling, scenting Jared deeply before he pulls back, separating them with a quiet, “Goodnight.”

\- - -

 

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Jensen’s fingers brush Jared’s as he takes the drink, deliberate and unashamed. 

Jared would glare at him, but he’s learned it will only gain him a grin or cheesy leer. He can’t stop the slight blush, the frill of self-conscious pleasure, that having Jensen’s attention in public brings. The presence of other Betas and Omegas far prettier than him stand as a reminder that he, with his gangly, oversized frame, is nothing deserving of particular attention. 

“You should sit with me.” In the nights since their dinner, Jensen has spent his evenings in one of the private rooms with an ever-changing entourage of men (and the occasional woman). 

“I’m on shift,” Jared answers, passing a drink to Misha. 

“I could speak with Sam.”

“Then who would serve your drinks?” he teases. He’d been aware, even that first night, of exactly what ( _who_ ) had prompted Ms. Ferris to send him to serve their party. 

“Think Jensen wants you to serve him something more than drinks!” one of the men calls out, a chorus of laughter following. 

“If ya don’t like Jensen, I got somethin’ I could serve ya!” another grunts, palming his cock roughly through his pants.

Hiding his flinch, Jared glances over to see Jensen glaring at the man. It’s a bit surprising. On previous nights, the Alphas in the group have been quiet, and if not polite, at least respectful of Jared. But he’d known this group was different from the start. They’re rougher looking, louder and drinking more. Where it's normal for Jensen to request one of the dancers on the pole at one end of the room, tonight they brought with them two Betas and an Omega to smile and simper and writhe on the Alphas’ laps.

The Alpha hasn’t seemed to notice Jensen’s ire and grins around at the men who laugh. 

“Enough,” Jensen says. He doesn’t yell, but the laughter dies off and every head turns towards him. Even Genevieve pauses her routine at the pole. “Find something else to talk about, Mathen.”

In the silence that follows, Jensen’s phone rings. He doesn’t move to answer it immediately, keeping his gaze on the Alpha until the man looks down in submission. A shiver of pleasure skates over Jared’s skin at the show of dominance. 

The “What?” Jensen barks into the phone seems to wake everyone. Genevieve begins her routine again, and Jared straightens up from where he’s stood frozen.

He’s making his way out the door when Jensen addresses the group again. “We got company coming. Mathen, James, get out of my sight.”

\- - -

Jared doesn’t think much of Jensen’s last words until half an hour later when he sees Detective Welling heading towards the bar with another suited man and two uniformed officers. Ms. Ferris intercepts them, speaking quietly with them off to the side. Jared watches them from behind the bar. He has the brief thought that he should warn Jensen before realizing that Jensen already knows.

Eyes scanning the club, Welling’s gaze catches on Jared’s. He says something to Ms. Ferris and the other suited man, then walks over.

“Jared.” Welling smiles. “What a lovely surprise.” 

“Detective Welling, is there some kind of problem?” 

“No, we just need to ask Ackles a few questions and rumor has it he’s been spending his evenings here lately.” He regards Jared thoughtfully a moment. “Now I think I see why. Working for him, Jared? I’m a little disappointed.”

“I needed a job, Jensen helped get me one.” 

“I’m sure he did.”

“It’s not like that…” Jared blushes and hates himself for it. He stands a little straighter. As torn as he is over his relationship with Jensen, Jared has no shame in his job or the fortune that got him here.

“So he has no claim on you?” Tom walks around the corner of the bar and Jared follows him. They stop where it's quieter, in the back corner where the bar gaps to allow employees in.

“I’m his employee, that’s all.” It’s not the whole truth, of course, but true enough. 

“And there's no one else, either?” 

Jared can see the interest in Tom’s eyes, bright and sparking like flint in the club’s lights. Biting his lip, Jared shakes his head. 

“I don’t understand that at all.” Tom leans onto the edge of the bar. “A pretty O like you should have a mate and pups by now, not be working for some criminal.”

“I’m not—” Jared closes his mouth over the words. Flattery always makes him feel like this, awkward and embarrassed and wanting to deny, but he’s learned over the years that denial only drags it out.

“Come out with me,” Tom says, soft and inviting. “We’ll have dinner, get to know each other a little better someplace not… tainted by him.” 

“I... um... Okay, yes.” Jared’s voice shakes, inexplicably hesitant over the words, and he smiles uncertainly to cover it. 

Tom smiles, and they set the date for Jared’s next evening off before Tom is called away by his partner. Jared watches him rejoin his group, watches the way his face grows serious. Ms. Ferris leads them all back to Jensen. It’s several long minutes before the officers return, Tom striding ahead of the others with a dark expression. The rest follow more sedately, Tom's partner even lingers a few minutes longer speaking with Ms. Ferris.

Tom is an Omega’s dream: attractive, powerful, and kind. So Jared doesn’t understand the clench of anxiety in his gut over going out with him, and puts it down to nerves.

\- - - 

Jared tries not to stare at the glass of Jack on the rocks while he’s adding the rest of the drinks, but it’s a hard thing. The club is packed, even for a Friday, and Jared’s heat chose today to start. It’s not that big a deal, but it does mean more comments from any Alpha that gets within scenting range, and he’s looking forward to crashing into bed. He’s got a low-level arousal that spikes at the drop of a hat, and he feels gross and feverish. 

He’s most certainly _not_ looking forward to Jensen scenting him like this. He’d managed to stay close to the door when taking their orders, but there’s no way he can hand out the drinks like that. The ice in Jensen’s glass is taunting him. Jensen never orders ice.

Exhaling, Jared scoops up the tray and heads to the back hall.

“Thanks, Dani.” He smiles when Danneel holds the door open for him. “You coming back, too?”

“Yep, Jensen wanted me there.” She grins. “Hey, you look pretty wiped. Why don’t I take that in for you and you can grab a break?”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“It’s no problem – c’mon, give it here.” Danneel makes grabby hands and Jared gives in, passing the tray over.

“Thanks, I owe you one.” 

“Pfft,” she answers, already striding away, her fringed dress swinging with each step. “Just enjoy your break.”

Jared watches her go into the room, hears her cheerful call of “Hey boys!” before the door swings shut. He debates going back to the storeroom for break, but if he walks out onto the floor again, he’s going to get sidetracked, so he steps into the shorter branch of hallway that leads to the dressing room. Leaning against the wall, he closes his eyes and sighs, feeling the pulsing heat in his veins start to calm now that he’s away from the noise of the bar. 

Jared wants pups, but he hates his heats, hates how they make him sweaty, hates the way his birthing hole grows wet and sore, aching for something more, hates the constant mild arousal coursing through his veins, and most of all, hates the way everyone who gets too close knows it.

It’s only a few seconds before he hears the door open again, the sounds from inside swelling briefly before they’re snuffed out by the door falling shut.

“Where’s Jared?” 

He can’t see him, but that’s Jensen, annoyed, and Jared’s about to make himself known before Danneel’s reply stops him.

“He said he didn’t want to deal with you right now.”

Jared’s stunned. He’d liked Danneel, and she’s never been anything but nice to him before. 

“Bullshit, he did,” Jensen growls, and Jared feels a spike of vicious pleasure at it.

“Oh, what does it matter? I'm here.”

“What are you playing at, Dani?”

“Nothing, baby—” 

“Don’t call me that. It’s not your right anymore and I never liked it when it was.” 

“Look, I know you’re infatuated with him right now, but you have to see he’s not right for a man like you.” Gone is the sweet, wheedling tone, replaced by something coldly barbed.

“And you are?” 

“You know I am. We were good together. I know how to stand behind you, represent you, I know the politics of someone with your power better than he could ever hope. I can help you, Jensen.”

“I don't need, or want, your help. I thought I made that very clear before.”

“You can't be serious with him. He's a rube – he has no concept of what a man like you needs, and I look far better on your arm than a _freak_ of an Omega like him.”

Jared squeezes his eyes shut, presses his palms flat against the wall behind him. He hates that word.

“You’ll talk about him with respect,” Jensen hisses. “I ended us for a reason. You’re an attention whore, Danneel, and not much else. You have no subtlety and you never understood the first thing about who I am or what I want.”

“Jensen—”

“I’m done playing to your vanity. Get back to work before I decide it’s not worth keeping you here.”

Jared hears the door open and close as she goes back to the room. In the long seconds after, he holds his breath, hoping Jensen will go back inside instead of heading towards the bar. There's the clink of ice in glass, then a gruff, “What?” 

“Nothing.” Misha’s voice comes as a surprise, Jared had no idea he was there.

“You think Jared’s wrong for me, too?”

“No.” But he doesn’t sound very sure.

“I’m short on patience right now, Misha, you got something to say, say it.” There's the sound of fabric and dull footsteps. Jensen shifting around, Jared guesses.

“I’m concerned your interest in him could skew your decision making.” 

“You think he’s making me weak.”

“Not yet, but he could. You let him get away with things you don’t tolerate from others.”

“Like what?”

“The backtalk—”

“You and Mark backtalk me all the time.”

“Not in public. You don’t hold him to the same standards as others. Just look at him here – his clothes are rags. You wouldn’t stand for that from any other employee. Sam wouldn't either, if it weren't for your preference for him.”

Jared looks down at his worn black button down and pants, feeling tears threatening behind his eyes. He knows they’re bad, feels their thinness every time he puts them on, but he hadn’t thought it was that obvious in the dim lights of the club. He breathes, deep and slow and silent, refusing to cry over something he can't help.

“All I’m saying,” Misha continues, “is that I think you should exercise caution.”

“That what you’re doing with Chris, exercising caution?” 

Jared can almost hear Misha stiffen at the words. 

“My personal life is none of your business,” Misha answers, voice low.

“Then we agree on something.”

Not long after that comes the sound of the group’s room door opening and closing again. Jared tilts his head back against the wall, raw and miserable.

“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”

Jared closes his eyes, exhaling deeply. Opening his eyes he stares straight ahead, watching as Jensen walks into view. 

Jensen drains his glass, eyes holding Jared's. He steps closer, the long lines of their bodies matching together. Slowly, Jensen brings the glass up between them, Jared watching warily.

Jared’s eyes flutter shut at the touch of the glass against his forehead.

“Bad heat?” Jensen asks, breath hot against Jared’s neck in counterpoint to the blessedly cool glass at his temple.

“Bad life.” Jared slits his eyes open, watching Jensen from beneath his lashes. It’s none of Jensen’s business, but Jared doesn’t have the energy to fight him right now, isn’t even sure he wants to. 

Jensen pulls the glass away, but doesn’t step back. Catching a cube between his fingers, he traces the ice, gentle and slick, over Jared’s lips. Up close, in the hallway's half-light, Jensen's eyes are dark.

Parting his lips, Jared sucks the ice in, relishing the burst of cold over his tongue. Jensen smiles, small and intimate, as his fingers run wet from Jared’s lips down over his jaw. He leans in, so that when he speaks, Jared feels the words shaped against his mouth.

“Let me take care of you.” 

Jared is dimly aware of the glass thumping to the floor a moment later, but is too caught up in the taste of Jensen’s kiss to care. The ice left on his tongue melts away, Jensen’s tongue sliding into its place. He tastes of whiskey, smooth and smoky. Pressing into Jared, Jensen’s hand curls around to cradle Jared’s neck. 

It’s like his first heat all over again, arousal spiking hot, heart thundering. Jared moans, reaching out to grab hold of Jensen’s waist. But Jensen stops him, grasping Jared’s hands in his and raising them above his head, pressing him into the wall. Hips thrusting forward, Jared breaks the kiss with a gasp. 

“That’s it, Jaybird,” Jensen murmurs, mouth trailing kisses along Jared’s jaw. He moves both of Jared’s wrists to hold beneath one of his broad palms. His freed hand skates down Jared’s body, brushing like a kiss over his neck and jaw, tracing firm over Jared’s chest, before gripping tight at his hip and pulling Jared forward. “Take what you need.”

Jared tilts his chin, seeking out Jensen’s mouth again and claiming it in a wet kiss. Jensen slots a thigh between Jared’s legs and Jared thrusts against it, whimpering into Jensen’s mouth. Rolling his hips into Jared’s thrusts, Jensen helps him along. Jared’s cock is aching, trapped in the confines of his pants, the slow friction against Jensen’s thigh sending an exquisite torture through him. He can feel Jensen’s cock, pressing hard and hot against his hip, mirror of his own. Jensen’s body is firm and unyielding from hands to mouth to thigh, and it should make Jared feel trapped, but instead he feels like he’s falling, with only Jensen to anchor him. 

He doesn’t last long, thrusts growing desperate quickly. Barely parting between kisses, hips pushing forward relentlessly, he speeds towards his climax. Jensen’s fingers slip beneath Jared’s shirt, sliding over his skin and Jared loses it, coming with a broken cry into Jensen’s mouth, cock still trapped in his pants, inner muscles clenching. 

Jared slumps against the wall, spent. 

Releasing his hands, Jensen sweeps the swatch of sweaty bangs from Jared’s forehead. He nuzzles in, letting Jared come down to soft kisses against his throat and light scenting. “So good, sweet boy.”

Jared’s not sure if he’s meant to hear it, Jensen says it so softly, breathing it into his throat like a secret. He swallows, recollecting slowly just how exposed they are here, growing uneasy at the thought of what Jensen might ask for in return. 

“Almost closing time, you should go home,” Jensen says, thumb stroking the skin above Jared's hip. 

“I’m still on shift.” And that’s another thing, he has no idea how long he’s been gone, but too long for a break. Ms. Ferris is going to be furious.

“I’ll talk to Sam, just go home,” Jensen says, making Jared wonder if he’d spoken aloud. He presses a kiss to Jared’s temple, another to the corner of his lips. “Unless you’d rather come home with me?”

It takes more than Jared cares to admit to shake his head no.

\- - -

At the start of his next shift, Ms. Ferris calls the bartenders together and informs them that, effective immediately, their dress code is changing from the generic ‘all black’ to black leather pants and fitted black t-shirts. She makes a point of specifying everything must be fresh and in good repair. Jared keeps his head down, humiliated and sure that if he looks up he’ll find everyone’s eyes focused accusingly on him. 

Still in heat, he spends the shift miserable in body and spirit. Ms. Ferris doesn’t say anything about him leaving early, but Jared spends the hours fretting silently. He doesn’t know how he’s going to afford the new clothes to meet the code, he has a few dollars in his pocket – a novelty compared to a month ago – but not nearly enough for even a pair of faux leather pants. Then too, there’s his worry over how Jensen will treat him after last night.

Both fears prove unfounded. Jensen and his entourage never come in that evening, and when Jared gets home he finds a stack of thin boxes, their pristine white standing in stark relief against the dull floor, filled with t-shirts and leather. There are even shoes, and to Jared’s embarrassment, underwear. There’s no note, not that he needs one. His relief at not having to worry about buying anything is short lived, replaced by the unsettling thought that this is payment for last night. He spends the night under his thin blanket, kept warm only by his heat fever, tossing and turning over whether to hit Jensen, or thank him, and firmly pushing away the desire to bring himself off to memories of yesterday. 

\- - -

The restaurant is nice. Not six-forks nice, but nice enough that Jared’s uncomfortably aware he’s underdressed in his jeans and sweater. Rubbing his arms a little, he trails behind the host and Tom to their table. 

“Thank you,” Jared murmurs, taking the seat Tom pulls out for him. Tom had opened the car door, too, and Jared has to remind himself that Tom is only being kind, chivalrous, that just because Mitch used to do the same doesn’t signify anything. 

“I’m sorry I’m underdressed,” Jared says awkwardly, after they’ve ordered. “I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’s difficult being on your own. How’d that happen, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Smiling weakly, Jared shakes his head. “I left school—”

“You must be very smart to have gotten in, but it can be difficult.” Tom sips at his water. He fits in here perfectly, in his black suit, hardly a hair out of place beneath the bright lights.

“No, that…” Jared stops himself, not wanting to have to explain, and finishes lamely, “Wasn’t all of it. I’d like to finish someday.”

“Of course. What were you studying?” 

“Art history—” Jared loves art. Loves the way a single image can say so much, can make you feel something profound. He says as much to Tom, trying to convey it through words, as if in doing so he might persuade him to appreciate it just as much. 

“Art has never been an interest of mine,” Tom says, as their meals arrive. 

“I got a little carried away, didn’t I?” Jared picks at the salad on his plate. “My family used to tease me all the time for talking too much.”

Tom reaches out, curling his hand over Jared’s. “You’re passionate, that’s a good thing.” He holds Jared’s gaze, thumb sweeping over his knuckles. 

Jared smiles and shifts the conversation to Tom's life. Tom comes from traditionalist stock; his Alpha father working while his Omega father cared for the home, Tom and his siblings. He speaks of them with a reverence that Jared admires. They make it through dinner and soon enough Jared is following Tom back out to his car. 

Tom insists on walking him to his door and they make their way up the creaking, dark staircase in silence to pause before Jared's apartment.

“I worry about you, you know,” Tom says, sliding a hand onto Jared's hip, “in this neighborhood, without an Alpha.”

“I can take care of myself,” Jared answers, without heat. 

“A friend of mine believes the rights movements have ruined us.” Tom laughs a little. “Not that I agree, but you hear him talk about it and he raises some good points. I know you're okay on your own, you're doing so well, but – you deserve an Alpha that cares for you.” 

Jared's not sure how to feel about that, a little flattered, a little affronted, but allows himself to be drawn closer regardless. Their lips touch, soft and warm and tasting of nothing. Tom cups Jared's jaw, coaxing him to open his mouth. When Jared gives in, the kiss turns firm, a tight control in every movement that turns Jared on even if it doesn't make his heart beat any faster.

Pulling back slowly, Tom strokes Jared’s cheek. Says, “I could see myself caring for you.”

Jared tries to feel the same.

\- - -

A persistent knocking wakes Jared earlier than usual. Stumbling out of bed, he drags on his jeans before tripping over to open the door. 

“Good morning, sunshine.” 

“Mark?” he grumbles, still rubbing sleep from his eyes and not quite believing the sight of Mark standing on his threshold with Mr. Armstrong scowling beside him. “Mr. Armstrong? I'm all paid up...”

“About that—” Mark starts.

“Building's been sold,” Armstrong interrupts, snapping the words out like they hurt. 

“Yes.” Mark rolls his eyes heavenward. “As my tactless friend here said, the building’s been sold.”

A curl of anxiety contracts in Jared's stomach. “Don't tell me—”

“You're a quick one, aren't you. Knew Jensen couldn't be so keen on you just for your looks. Yeah, sunshine, I'll be collecting the rent from now on. Armstrong here is just... introducing me around, before he retires someplace far, far away.” 

Armstrong grumbles something mostly unintelligible, but Jared thinks he makes out the words 'forced' and 'retirement'.

“So!” Sliding his hands into his pockets, Mark rocks back on his heels. “Out with the old, in with the new and all that. Now, about the rent.”

“I'm caught up,” Jared says, reflexively, gripping the door frame tightly.

“Well,” Mark drawls. “Yes, but end of the month is coming in just a few days. This—” He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a tri-folded paper. “Is your official notice on the change of ownership, and the new rates, effective the first.”

“New rates?” Snatching the paper, ignoring Mark's affronted look, Jared unfolds it. He scans the page, skimming past Ackles’ name at the top to latch onto the outrageous amount listed. “You... you can't do this. I have a lease – you can't raise my rent until my lease is up – it's illegal!”

“Eh. True. If you have a current lease. But you violated your lease when you fell behind on the rent, you're month-to-month now.”

“That's – that can't be right,” Jared stutters, mouth looking for an argument that isn't there. “This amount is impossible, no one here could afford it! Mr. Armstrong, tell him!”

Armstrong looks surly, but opens his mouth to answer only to be cut off by Mark.

“Some of your neighbors manage to pay their rent on time, believe it or not, and won't be seeing increases until their leases are up. And if we lose a few, or all, it'll make renovating the rooms easier.”

“Why?” Tired all of a sudden, Jared doesn't have the energy to put the heat he'd like behind the words. “Why is he doing this?'

“Apparently Jen sees something here worth keeping.” Mark eyes him, a crooked smile pulling his lips. “I hear he has big plans for this old place. Gonna turn the whole neighborhood around, starting here. If he has any other motives, well, I'm sure I couldn't say.”

Jared stares at them, taking in Mark's self-satisfied smile and Armstrong's disgruntled scowl a long moment before determining there is absolutely nothing he has left to say to them and slamming the door shut.

“Rude!” Mark yells, voice barreling through the thin wood. Their footsteps follow, trailing down the hall to the next apartment.

Jared throws himself down onto his mattress, arms curling to hug his ratty pillow to his face. Letter crinkling in his fist, he screams into the indifferent fabric. 

He allows himself to stew for an hour or so, anger building hot in his gut until the force of it gets him up again. There's several hours yet before his shift starts, but Jared gets cleaned up and dressed for work, uncertain if he'll have enough time to get back and change. 

The leather pants, at least, keep the freezing wind at bay better than his jeans. Jared walks fifteen blocks, getting turned around twice thanks to incorrect directions, before locating the police station. It’s not the fancy, imposing stone edifice boasted by the wealthier areas, but a tiny, modern building that looks dingy in the unforgiving afternoon sun.

Pushing open the doors, Jared steps into a room of flecked linoleum floors and florescent lighting. The bulk of the room is walled off by a high, wood-paneled divider, beyond which lies an array of desks and offices, alive with movement and sound in a way this side is not. Jared steps into the short line of silent, bedraggled civilians waiting to speak with the officer manning the divide.

The line moves slowly, but eventually Jared finds himself face-to-face with the officer. He's older than Jared, his wide, square jaw softened by a graying beard. 

“Can I help you?”

“I'd like to speak with someone about Jensen Ackles.”

“Ackles?” The officer's eyebrows go up. “Can you tell me what it's about?”

“I want to... to... file a complaint, or something.” It's only now that Jared realizes he doesn't have anything concrete to lay at Jensen's feet, except being an unmitigated asshole. “He's kicking me out of my home... I don't think it's legal.” 

“If you're not sure, and it's property related, it might be best if you spoke with a lawyer,” the officer says, not unkindly. 

“You think I can afford a—”

“Jared?”

“Tom!” Jared cries, relief washing over him. 

Tom stands beside a cubicle near the front, holding a folder of papers. Handing the folder off to the officer at the desk with a word, Tom walks over. “What's going on – are you okay?”

“I just – I wanted to talk to someone about Jensen – Ackles.”

Eyes lighting, Tom steps over to the swinging divider, unlatching the tiny lock. “Of course, why don't we grab a room.”

“I'm not so sure this is a police matter,” the officer at the desk pipes up, turning in his chair to watch as Jared steps through. 

“I'm well aware of where you stand on police matters, Morgan,” Tom growls, with a vehemence that startles Jared. “I'll handle this.”

He guides Jared over to a small room. Before long, Jared finds himself seated in a rickety folding chair across a desk from Tom and his partner. Tom introduces his partner as Jim Beaver, and Jared recognizes the man from the night they came to the club. He's shorter than Tom, older and thicker around the middle, with a face that looks like it's seen too many late nights. At Tom's prompting, he explains the situation, trying to convey that he knows Jensen did this to get to him, without mentioning the offer.

Tom looks disappointed, but not defeated, when Jared finishes. 

“Mr. Padalecki,” Detective Beaver says, leaning his elbows on the desk. “I'm very sorry. We can take a complaint, but I have to be honest with you here, it won't go far. There's nothing you've told us here that sounds illegal.” 

“Maybe,” Tom says, brightening, “there's something else you've seen, or heard, that might be questionable? At work, maybe?”

Both detectives watch him, Tom with an almost tangible anticipation while Beaver has a reserved, critical look.

In his first days at the club, Jared had noticed Jensen was spoken of with unwavering loyalty, almost reverence, by everyone. It had made him angry, then, but in this moment, being stared down, feeling a little like chum before sharks, he finds himself unwilling to say anything more of Jensen or his life. He can't explain it, not now any more than he could then. He's still furious with Jensen, but he cannot bring himself to destroy the man.

He's not even sure he could, when he thinks about it. Tracing back, he can remember bits of vague conversation, whispers and innuendo, but nothing substantial. His conversation with Misha, the overheard exchange, have probably been the strongest evidence, but even so it's not enough, and Jared breathes a sign of relief at the realization that he has nothing to give. 

“There's nothing,” he says, his words light with truth. “I'm sorry I've wasted your time.”

Tom walks him out, pausing Jared just outside the doors. An icy wind has started. It licks at Jared through his thin coat, numbs his nose and ears.

“Are you walking?” 

“Yeah,” Jared shrugs, trying not to shiver. “I'll be fine.” 

“It's blocks away!” Taking out his wallet, Tom pulls out a couple of dollars, holding them out. “Take the subway, at least. I'd drive you, but I rode in myself this morning.”

“No, I couldn't—” Jared has a few crumpled bills of his own, but after this morning he needs every cent in his pocket.

“I insist.” Tom steps closer, pushing the folded bills into Jared's pocket. “Here.” He reaches up, undoing his scarf. Looping the scarf over Jared's head, Tom wraps the front, pulling it tight. The wool is cozy, warmed from Tom's body and smells of his clean musk. 

Jared breathes it in, letting the scent calm him a little before reluctantly reaching to take it off. “I can't take this, it's too much—” 

“Hush.” Tom's hands cover Jared’s, stopping him. “It's the least I can do. You could, maybe, make it up to me? Return it, over dinner?” 

Tom might have some traditionalist views, but he's a good man, far kinder than Jared deserves. He might not make Jared's heart race like Jensen does, but Jared's mother had always told him that love was about compromise and care, long after the passion has worn off. 

Blushing, Jared nods. “I'm not off again until Tuesday...”

“Tuesday it is, then. I'll call you.” Tom's hands are still warm where they hold Jared’s, and he raises them together now to press a kiss over Jared's knuckles. “And if you get stuck – if you can't find a new place – you come to me, okay? I have a spare room, you'd be welcome to it.”

Jared nods again, mumbles, _“Okay.”_ The blush on his cheeks a mix of flattery, embarrassment, and guilt. His acquiescence is a lie, Jared could never bring himself to beg Tom's charity, to expose himself as such a failure.

\- - -  


Jared spends half his shift that night watching the door for Jensen, and the other half snarling out his anger beneath his breath. Everyone seems to sense his bad mood, giving him a wide berth, though he does manage to ask a few of the other unmated Betas and Omegas about apartments. Their answers just make him angrier. Most are in better places, places that Jared could have afforded by now if he hadn't spent over half his earnings on back rent. As is, the deposits and first month's rent are well beyond his reach. 

“ _Coward,_ ” Jared growls as he's wiping down the bar at closing with no sight of Jensen. All the dancers have gone for the night, and most of the wait staff. Jared, Chad and Ms. Ferris are the last few left at the end of the night. They're huddled in the coat room by the back door, layering up to go home, when a shadow blocks the doorway. Jared looks up, hands still tying Tom's scarf on, to see Jensen standing there. 

“Jensen?” Ms. Ferris says in surprise. “Did you need me for something?”

“No, I need a word with Jared. You and Chad can head out, I'll lock up when we're done.” Jensen moves, leaning against the wall just outside the coatroom. 

Ms. Ferris casts a hesitant look between Jared and Jensen, but doesn't object. 

“So,” Jensen says, when Ms. Ferris and Chad have gone out the back door, and they're alone together in the dim light. “I hear you paid a visit to the police.”

Jared steps up to him, not bothering to hide any of his anger. “Fuck you.”

“Heard you didn't give them anything, either. That's good.” Jensen’s tone stays even, casual, like Jared's anger means nothing.

“I'm getting kicked out of my home because of you, and that's all you can say to me?” Jared fists his hands in his pockets, nearly vibrating with the effort of standing still.

“You do have another option. I thought that was clear.” 

“Thought you weren't into force?” Jared snaps. He can't make out all of Jensen's expression in the half-light, but he would swear he can see a smirk there.

“This isn''t force, sweetheart, I'm just manipulating circumstances in my favor—”

Jared's anger explodes. He's swinging before he thinks about it, palm open, inarticulate grunt in his throat. But his slap never lands. Jensen grabs his wrist, using the momentum to swing Jared around and slam him up against the wall. 

The shock of his back hitting the wall startles Jared back into himself even as it knocks the breath from him. Jensen holds him there, one of Jared's hands pinned to the wall by his firm grip, the other held down by his waist. 

“You,” Jensen rumbles, his breath hot over Jared's throat, “don't ever hit me.” His grip on Jared's wrists flexes tighter. “I won't ever hit you, and you will do me the same courtesy. Understood?”

Panting, Jared nods. Jensen watches him, his eyes glittering black, color lost in the darkness. He breathes in, nostrils flaring, and his hold loosens as his gaze drops down to the scarf.

“That's his, isn't it? Welling's.” He lets go of Jared but doesn't back up, keeping Jared pinned by proximity. 

“It was cold. He's a nice guy. And he likes me.” Jared adds the last just to rub it in, wanting to hurt Jensen for what he's done. 

“Take it off.” 

Jared laughs. “No.”

“I have a lot of strengths, Jared, but a lack of jealousy isn't one of them. I can handle knowing you're seeing him, but I won't stand here and look at his claim on you. Take it off.”

“No, I'll freeze—”

“I'm driving you home, just take that goddamned thing off!” 

Jared doesn't respond. He doesn't want to give Jensen this, but neither is he willing to refuse again and anger Jensen further. In the stretching silence, Jensen reaches up and unwinds the scarf. Neither helping nor fighting, Jared watches the scarf drop to a pale shadow on the ground. 

Jensen's hands take its place, sliding over either side of Jared's neck. They're hot, so much hotter than the scarf that Jared wonders how it ever felt warm at all. 

“Better–” Jensen breathes, eyes on his hands before traveling up to meet Jared's. He must see the anger there, still, in Jared's glare and clenched jaw, because he leans forward, nuzzling into the hair behind Jared's ear to say quietly, “Let me explain, darling. This is my city. My rules. I always get what I want. Always. And right now... that's you.”

Jared doesn't say a word after that, not as he follows Jensen to the car or most of the drive home. He barely looks at Jensen again until a weary, hesitant _'Jared'_ that sounds like nothing he's ever heard from Jensen before makes him look up.

“I owe you an apology.”

Jared watches him, trying to make out Jensen's expression in the flickering lights from the city speeding by. 

“I lost my head, back there, and I'm sorry.” Jensen picks up Tom's scarf from its place beside him, holding it out to Jared. “You're... not mine, as you so often remind me. I didn't have any right to take this from you, and it wasn't my intention to frighten you. I'm not even sure why I did it. I can be possessive, and sometimes jealous, that's true, but I like to think I'm not petty.” 

Jared takes the scarf with one hand, the other already moving to open the door as the car slows to a stop. He climbs out, pausing at the open door to listen when Jensen goes on. 

“I know what you must be thinking, but I… I'm not like _him_. I'm not looking to control every detail of your life, I promise you.”

“Pretty words.” Jared's voice comes out raspy, like he hasn't spoken in weeks instead of a handful of minutes. He's not sure if Jensen even hears them before he closes the door and goes inside. 

Jared lies in bed that night feeling numb to the swirling emotions in his gut. He doesn't bother trying to pull them apart, doesn't bother trying to unearth the unidentifiable something that seems to be pulling him inexorably towards Jensen.

And Jensen should have been right; Mitch is never far from Jared's memories and he should be frightened by their similarities, but all he can see are their differences. All he can remember when his wrist throbs is the spark of pleasure that lit when Jensen held him down. When he should have recoiled at Jensen's possessive demands, he'd only wanted to curl forward into them, to let Jensen take him and hold him safe and away from everything else. 

Jared lies in bed that night and hates himself a little more, for trusting Jensen still, for wanting him, despite the layers of anxiety and anger still churning 

\- - -

If Jared had any hope that Jensen's apology over the scarf incident would prompt a change to his apartment dilemma, they're dashed in the coming days. He gets up early every day, walking block after block checking for rooms to let. But those few that he can afford turn him away with the excuse that the room is gone. Some say it believably, but Jared can read the lie in others. His coat, a puffer that's pillowy warm and showed up on his doorstep the morning after his fight with Jensen, does a lot to keep the freezing temperatures at bay, but is hardly a balm to Jared's frustration and anger.

He works his shifts. He serves Jensen and his crew each night. Jensen is... gentle with him. Gone is their teasing banter, Jensen's blunt proposals, and in their wake Jensen watches him, not bothering to hide his desire, but carefully respectful in word and touch and tone. Jared speaks to him as required, but otherwise remains silent, unable to trust himself. 

On Sunday, Jared tries the cheaper motels. The desk clerks apologize for the mistake, or electric issue, that has left their vacancy signs flashing when they have no vacancies. 

Monday is the last day of the month. Jared stays in bed most of the day, staring up at the stained ceiling, too dispirited to go out looking again. 

He is in the middle of packing his backpack with enough basics for a few days when there's a knock on the door. Opening it reveals Mark, a man behind him holding a pile of flattened boxes. 

“Ready to go, then?” Mark says, tilting his head to peer unabashedly behind Jared.

“I have until tomorrow.” 

Face twisting in exaggerated thought, Mark _hmms_ doubtfully. “You have until midnight, and you work tonight.” 

When Jared glares at him, Mark continues, “Oh relax, kitten, we're here to help.”

“I doubt that.” Turning away, Jared goes back to packing, but leaves the door open. It's not his place anymore, what should he care if they come in?

“Shocking, but true. I had a... feeling, let's say, that you might not be all ready to go just yet, and, being the kind and generous man that I am, I've come to help you pack.” Mark nods to the other man, who steps over to the closet and begins assembling a box.

“Right. All out of the goodness of your heart.” Jared zips up his backpack. 

“Entirely. Well, mostly. I don't suppose you want to tell me where we're taking all of this...” He looks around disdainfully. “Stuff?”

Watching the stranger folding his clothing into the box, Jared shrugs. “No idea.”

“Ah. I thought that might be the case. Tell you what, we'll just take this someplace safe, and you can pick it up when you know where you'll be, yeah?”

“Someplace safe?” Jared asks, looking at Mark doubtfully. 

Mark smirks. “You really want me to say it?”

“No.” Sighing, Jared moves to help pack up. At least his things will be safe; he doesn't imagine Jensen will allow anything to happen to them.

\- - -

“Sandy, please?” Jared squeezes between two other dancers, following Sandy as she moves through the dressing room. 

“I'm sorry Jared, I really can't!” She doesn't even look back at him before pushing through the curtain onto the stage. 

Jared slumps against the wall a moment, gaze sliding over the dancers – concerned more with finding someone he has not already asked than their various states of undress. He gets a few pitying looks, but they mean little coming from folks who have already refused him. 

Jared heads back out to the bar, speeding his step when he spies Osric's in.

“—lots of pups! After I finish school of course,” Osric is saying to Chad, leaning almost all the way over the bar. “Oh...hey, Jared...” 

Jared's heart sinks at Osric's trapped look, but he pushes on. At Jared's request, Osric follows him to the back corner of the bar, but when Jared states his case, he gets the same reaction as everyone else. 

“I'm sorry, I can't.”

“Please,” Jared begs with as much dignity as he can. “I'll sleep on the floor if I have to – I can pay you a little, and I swear it would only be a short time. I only need another paycheck or two.”

“I'm... Jared, I can't...” Osric bites his lip, eyes darting nervously around before whispering urgently, “Mr. Ackles would kill me – like, literally kill me!”

“Jensen.” Jared presses his hands to his eyes. He's not surprised; it's only a confirmation of what he's known all along. 

“I'm sorry – I really am.” Osric sounds like he means it, not that it does Jared any good.

“I get it. It's fine. Thanks, Osric.”

Osric smiles hesitantly before leaving Jared to his misery. The rest of his shift passes in a blur, and soon enough everyone is heading home. Jared lingers behind, clutching the strap of his backpack to his shoulder and trying to look as innocent and inconspicuous as possible. 

“Time to go!” Ms. Ferris claps him on the back, startling him. Her hand stays there, up by his shoulder, guiding him along with her out the door. Sighing, Jared goes, casting one last, longing look back towards the private rooms. 

Out on the street, everyone scatters to their various directions home. Some alone, curled in on themselves against the cold, others in packs of two or three, voices fading into the crisp air. Jared watches them scatter a minute before hefting his bag a little higher and turning towards the park. He's used to walking these streets this late, well familiar with the orange glow cast over everything from the streetlamps, and the way the shadows will start to move, if you let them.

But it's a different thing, to walk them without a safe haven at the end – without an end, really. Jared feels like an outsider, an intruder, in someone else's land. 

The park is tiny; a block worth of grass and a few trees, a chain-gated basketball court, eerily silent at one am. Head down, Jared moves to the darkest corner he can find, where a couple of trees flank a bench, and sits down. He sticks his backpack under his head, arm slung through the straps – he might not have ever been homeless before, but he's not dumb enough to fall asleep with his things exposed. Pulling his knees up tight, he curls as much of them as possible up under his coat. There's not a lot of room, but the puffer keeps his torso, arms and neck warm, at least. Jared closes his eyes. 

And opens them a second later. He's wide awake, too wired by stress and discomfort to sleep. It's quiet here, the sounds of the city wafting over from other streets dim. He stares out at the not-darkness, watching the shadows begin to twitch and grow.

Jared gasps, heart racing, and shuts his eyes tight, forcing himself to breath deep and slow. Biting his lip, Jared's eyes sting with sudden tears, sharp and painful behind his eyes. He won't cry. He's not weak. This is only temporary, a night or two, and he'll find someplace. Jensen can't have gotten to everyone in the city, _someone_ will rent to him. Or he could give in, keep Jensen's bed warm in exchange for a warm bed.

A noise draws him out of his thoughts – the sound of footsteps on gravel and a baritone hum drifting in the air. He finds the source quickly – a man, at the front of the park, ambling through. Painted in shadows as he is, the man is halfway to him before Jared can make out any details. Jared holds his breath, afraid to move as the man gets closer. 

“Evening.” The man stops a few steps away.

Jared's eyes trail up; the man is tall, his blue police uniform turned black in the night. It takes Jared a moment, but he places the square jaw and dark, narrow eyes as the cop from the station desk. 

“Can't sleep here, you know ,” the officer continues. 

Sitting up slowly, Jared pulls his backpack on. “I'm sorry, I'll—” he trails off, unsure how to continue. 

“You got anywhere you can go?”

Jared shakes his head, the ground swinging in his view.

The officer blows out a breath. “Alright. Come with me.”

“Are – am – are you taking me in?”

Chuckling, the officer gives him a crooked smile. “No, kid. I know a place you can stay. C'mon, I'll take you there.”

Jared stands, following when the officer turns back the way he came. He supposes a shelter is the smart thing, even if it feels like giving in. 

“Name's Morgan – JD, if you like,” the officer says amiably. 

“Jared...” 

Just past the park sits the officer's cruiser. He opens the back door, gesturing Jared in. 

“Sorry, it's policy – can't have non-officers up front,” JD says to Jared's hesitation. 

The back of the cruiser smells like a cab, grimy leather and must. Jared keeps himself pressed by the door. JD gets in the driver's seat, his face half-obscured by the grill between them. He starts the car, but doesn't pull out immediately, picking up his cell instead and sending a text. Catching sight of Jared watching, he flashes a smile. 

“Just gotta let Jensen know you're coming.”

“You!” Jared grabs the door handle, pulling it back and forth futilely. 

JD drives, heedless of Jared's curses. “Security measure, can't be opened from the back.”

Slumping down, Jared presses his forehead to the glass. “You're one of his.”

“Yeah, sorry. But it's not so bad.”

Jared huffs. “You have no idea.” 

“Jensen's a good man,” JD says, the firmness in his tone surprising. “I've lived in this city all my life. I love it with everything I am. He may not be on the right side of the law all the time, but he's done more good here than bad.”

“He drove me onto the street!”

“Seems to me like he's offering you a place to say.” He holds up a hand when Jared opens his mouth. “Look, I don't know what your situation with him is – and I don't want to know. But I'm gonna give you a piece of advice that I've seen hold true over and over: Listen to him.”

The car stops, Jared reaching for the handle as soon as he hears it unlock, but the door is thrown open before he can touch it. 

Jensen's face is stern, the muscles around his eyes and jaw tight. He backs away from the car, leaving just enough space for Jared to climb out. 

“Thanks for nothing,” Jared mutters, climbing out. He scowls as Jensen leans in the open door to thank Morgan before closing it and facing Jared again.

Neither of them speak immediately. Jared follows Jensen into the brightly lit lobby of his building, across the marble floors to the brassy elevator, and up. 

The penthouse is massive, the door sitting at the divide between a generous living room, magazine-perfect in whites and grays, and the open kitchen with its shining marble and stainless steel. But Jared has little time to look at it. 

“A park bench?!” Jensen bursts, as soon as the door has closed behind them. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? You could have been assaulted – raped – frozen to death! What the hell, Jared?”

Jensen rips his coat off, throwing it over the back of a couch and pacing back, bearing down on Jared where he stands still before the door.

Jared tilts his chin up. “You didn't leave me with much of a choice!”

Stopping, Jensen presses his hands to his face, holding them there a long moment before looking up. “You'd rather risk your own safety than come to me for help. You hate me that much?”

Jared looks at him, only now taking in the silky sleep pants, the t-shirt that clings to Jensen's torso, revealing muscles Jared's only seen hinted at beneath fine suits. He looks... real, and a little exposed, and all the desire Jared has felt for these weeks tumbles through him at once.

“I don't hate you,” he admits slowly. 

“No?” Jensen takes a step closer, carefully. When Jared only watches him, he moves closer still.

“No,” Jared breathes, when Jensen is before him. “'M angry with you.” 

Jensen's fingers brush his, the unexpected touch sending a shiver up Jared's arm. 

“I know, Jaybird, believe me I know,” Jensen murmurs. His hand moves up, fingers skating ghost-like against Jared's hip. Leaning in, he lets his lips hover just over Jared's jaw. “Don't go. I'll get you a hotel room if you prefer, but take a guest room, don't go... stay.”

Worn down, raw as Jared is, the barest touch of Jensen's lips on his skin leaves him trembling. “I'll stay tonight... just tonight.”

Jensen's lips cover his, tongue slipping between Jared's parted lips, claiming his mouth rough and sudden. Jared grabs for something to hold onto, feeling Jensen's shirt stretch in his grip. He pushes back, tongue sliding against Jensen's. They nip at each others' lips, pulling each other back in when one would pull away. Jensen's hands pushes into Jared’s hair, tangling in the strands. 

Their foreheads pressed together, they breathe each others' air. Jensen wets his lips, tongue teasing over Jared's with the motion. “I'll show you to the guest room.” 

Tired of denying himself, tired of fighting, Jared counters, “Show me to yours?” 

“Are you sure?” Jensen's fingers trail down Jared’s neck, tracing tiny patterns as they go. “I'm not so honorable I'll take the high road here, sweetheart. Whatever you're offering, I'm taking.”

Jared kisses him, reaching up to tangle his fingers with Jensen's before they part. “You gonna talk all night?”

Smiling, Jensen steps back. Their hands still joined, he leads Jared across the room, down a darkened hallway to his bedroom. 

The room is big, one entire wall made of windows, exposing the magnificence of the city beyond and letting its ambient light fill the room with false moonlight. Turning to face Jared, Jensen stops. He lets go of Jared's hand, reaching to lift the hem of Jared's shirt. Letting him, Jared breathes deeply, raising his arms as fabric and Jensen's fingers skim up. Tossing the shirt aside, Jensen pulls his own off, perfunctory, and Jared catches only a brief glimpse before Jensen draws them together. He kisses Jared, mouth no less eager and demanding than earlier. Their bodies press together, hands drifting over skin, learning the planes of each other. Jared's hips work, rolling forward in gentle circles as his cock fills. 

Jensen turns, guiding Jared down onto the bed. He sinks into the downy covers, Jensen's body firm above him. Holding himself up, Jensen kisses him slowly until Jared wraps his arms around him, pulling him down so that they are connected, neck to toes. He moans, grinding up into Jensen's hard weight. Jensen's hand moves down, pushing between them to open Jared's pants, fingers freeing Jared's cock. He slides down, pulling Jared's pants off, pauses, kneeling at the end of the bed, to look his fill.

“You, too,” Jared pleads, shifting under the scrutiny. 

Jensen smiles indulgently, taking his own pants off before crawling back up. He kisses Jared's neck. “Beautiful boy.” 

It's not true, but Jared holds his tongue. Jensen is the beautiful one, and Jared wishes for more light to explore him by. The pale light tantalizes more than illuminates, gilding glimpses of Jensen’s toned limbs in silver, hiding the rest in shadow. His cock presses against Jared's hip, the length of him hard and hot as Jared is. 

They touch each other like teenagers in the first flush of lust, kisses wet, hands roaming, hips grinding. Jensen's hand slides down, sloping over Jared’s cock teasingly before moving below. Jared gasps, arching at the touch of Jensen's fingers against his slick heat. His own hand scrabbles against Jensen's skin to curl around his cock. 

“Fuck! Yes, stroke me,” Jensen hisses, hips jerking forward. He nips at Jared's neck, slips a single finger into him. Jared moans, his hole clenching tight around Jensen's finger, feeling perversely more empty even as he's being filled.

He obeys, stroking Jensen in long pulls, cock silky in his palm, growing wet with precome beneath his hand. Jensen takes up the rhythm with him, hips and finger and hand working in tandem. Their kisses grow sloppy, hitting cheeks and jaws as often as lips. Jared's cock slaps against his stomach as Jensen fingers him. He strokes Jensen faster, crying out when Jensen plunges a second finger into him. Jensen grins against his skin.

Jared tosses his head back, baring his neck. Jensen bites at him, sucking a mark into place low on Jared's collarbone. Jared comes, come striping his stomach, clenching tight around Jensen's fingers and feeling as if his heart will stop. Jensen's own moan vibrates into him, his seed spilling hot over Jared's hand.

They rest together, breathlessness fading. Jared's eyes are starting to close when Jensen moves, snagging a corner of a blanket and sweeping it over Jared's stomach and cock lightly, clearing away the traces of their release. 

“C'mon, Jaybird,” he murmurs, kissing Jared lightly. “Under the covers.”

Jared moves, sliding under the thick comforter to curl on his side. Jensen lies beside him, arm settling over Jared's waist, hand splayed wide over his lower back. In the silence, Jared listens to the slow alignment of their breaths. Jensen's eyes have drifted shut before Jared speaks a hesitant whisper into the air between them. “I thought... thought you wanted...” 

Jensen's answer is low and sleep-slurred, his hand flexing against Jared's back, “Want you, yeah.” 

\- - -

They sleep late into the day. Jared wakes a few times, looking blearily out at the expanse of white cotton around him, cocooned in the warmth of the blankets and Jensen's arms. It's wonderful, the bracket of heat and strength around him – it's been far too long since Jared's had an Alpha hold him like this, and selfish as it is, he closes his eyes and burrows in, sleeping as long as he can. He feels inexplicably guilty, like he's led Jensen on, used him, even though he'd made his terms clear. He had hoped, briefly, that giving in to his desire for Jensen would slate his lust and leave him strong enough to walk away, but instead he feels more uncertain than ever. 

Eventually, Jared opens his eyes to find Jensen's warmth gone. Hearing soft noises, he turns over and spies Jensen standing at a dresser fixing his tie into place. 

“Afternoon, sleepyhead.” Jensen grins at him through the mirror's reflection before he turns. “Up an at-em. Lunch first, then there's something I want to show you.”

Lifting the covers, Jared slides to the edge of the bed. 

“There's an extra toothbrush under the sink, through there,” Jensen says, head tilting towards a door. “I'll be in the kitchen when you're ready.'

Jared waits ‘til Jensen’s left the room before he gets up, strangely self-conscious of his nudity beneath the blankets. In the daylight, the room is plush, with a retro feel to it. The bed and dresser are a weathered silver and ornate, like antiques from old Hollywood. Almost everything else is white, from the thick carpet and cloud-like bed linens to the drapes and chandelier. It feels sumptuous and comfortable, but not lived-in; there are no personal touches of Jensen's that Jared sees anywhere.

Getting up, he locates his clothing on the floor and redresses, nose wrinkling a bit at wearing them again after a shift at work. He foregoes the t-shirt, deciding just to grab a fresh one from his bag in the living room. The bathroom proves no poorer than the rest of Jensen's apartment, marble and glass and silver, and a huge window right beside the tub that makes Jared blush, even though there are no buildings in the view tall enough to spy in from.

He spends long minutes in front of the mirror, examining the mark Jensen left at the base of his neck. It's only an inch or so, dark red with the barest impression of teeth. Jared isn't sure how he feels about it. Anger would be appropriate, it was a presumptuous thing to do after their discussion. But he's not surprised. And it will fade; it's hardly a mark intended to last. Anyone who sees it will presume he's in a new relationship or, rightly, had a one-night stand, and will think nothing of it when it fades in a few days from not being renewed.

It's been a long time since Jared had an Alpha's mark of any kind, and he would have expected the sight of it to bring back the sickening memories of Mitch's ruthless bite.

But all he really feels looking at it is a vague sense of unearned pride.

Jared pads down the hall, out into the kitchen to find Jensen seated at the kitchen island, reading the paper. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” Jensen stands, walking over to press a chaste kiss against Jared's lips. 

Jared lets him, unsure whether he should refuse or not, unsure if he wants to. 

“Know what makes these pants look especially amazing on you,” Jensen asks, fingers trailing along the waistband. He leans in, nuzzling into the hair behind Jared's ear, his hand sliding down the back of Jared's pants to squeeze his buttock. “Knowing there's nothing between you and me but them. Naughty Omega, going commando.”

Blushing, Jared pulls away, Jensen letting him go easily. “They're too hard to get on with anything underneath,” he excuses.

“I'm not complaining.” Moving to the kitchen, Jensen opens the refrigerator. “I hope you like breakfast for lunch, because it's Helen's day off and it's all I know how to do.” 

“That's fine. Helen?”

“My chef.” Jensen unearths himself from the fridge, arms laden with eggs and bacon, milk and veggies in a precarious stack. 

Jared steps over to help him. They make lunch, eating it seated at the island and not in the dining room Jared can see through an open doorway off to the side. He's not sure how to speak to Jensen right now, and would remain silent but that Jensen keeps the conversation going with an ease that Jared envies. 

When they are done, Jensen leads Jared across the room – pausing while Jared stops to gape out the glass at the rooftop pool beyond – and to a door at the other end. 

The room he takes Jared into is a study, three walls lined in bookshelves spaced with paintings, a large wooden desk placed in the sunlight from the one windowed wall, and—

“Is that real?” Jared gasps, running to one of the paintings. He reaches out automatically, fingers almost touching the oil canvas before stopping to hover.

“Yes.”

“You have a Rembrandt?” Jared lowers his hand, but keeps staring at the painting, eyes tracing every brushstroke.

“Just a small one.” Jensen steps up behind him, suit jacket brushing Jared's back. He stays quiet though, waiting for Jared to look his fill.

“Thank you, for sharing this with me.”

“I'm glad you like it, but it's not actually why I brought you in here.” 

Jared looks over his shoulder, confusion written on his features.

“I wanted to show you – this would be one of your rooms.” 

“One of—” 

“If you stay,” Jensen says, eyes tracing over Jared's features. He spreads his palms over Jared's hips, pulling Jared against him, suit and shirt pressing against Jared's bare back. 

Jared turns back, gaze unseeing on the painting as Jensen's words sink in.

“Stay with me, take the deal, and I'll give you anything you want.” His hands slide beneath Jared's pants, stroking along the V of his hips. “If you want to get back to school, I will make it happen, or I'll hire you private instructors if you prefer. You'd have this room for studies... your own bedroom, if you want it.”

“Why me? There are hundreds who would be happy to do it. Why come after me?”

“Because you're beautiful,” Jensen answers, fingers digging in when Jared huffs a breath of disbelief. “Because I like talking to you.” He kisses the back of Jared's neck. “Because you refused me.”

“Can't you understand why I do?”

“I understand, but, Jared... if we were just mates, would you turn away any gift I gave you? Wouldn't you let me care for you, and live with me?”

“Why does it have to be this way then, why make an arrangement at all?”

Jensen's silent a long minute, lips resting against Jared's skin. “Because this is the way I need it to be.”

Jared opens his mouth to say he can't, but what comes out is, “I'll think about it.”

Jensen bends his head like a benediction to rest against Jared's shoulder blades. His hands slide up, along Jared's stomach to splay against his chest. “Thank you.”

\- - -

“You've been quiet tonight,” Tom says, driving them from the restaurant. 

“It's nothing.” Jared stares out the window, lost in his thoughts more than the view.

Jensen hadn't been too happy when Jared had mentioned he had a date with Tom and no intentions to cancel, but he'd settled for glaring instead of trying to talk Jared out of it. Jared kind of wishes now he had backed out. The restaurant had been another nice place, and Tom's not really any different than before, but Jared had grown weary of listening to him reiterate all the ways the Omega and Beta rights movements had been detrimental to Alphas and society. Even less pleasant were Tom's dismissive and patronizing tone when Jared had politely raised some counter arguments. 

He blinks when the car pulls to a stop, only then realizing that Tom hadn't asked him where he was staying now. They're in a parking garage, and uneasiness flares in Jared's gut. “Where are we?”

Tom curls his palm behind Jared's neck, pulling him into a kiss. “My place.”

Jared freezes, thoughts running furiously for how to react. Tom doesn't seem to notice, kissing him still. His hand slides up Jared's thigh and pushes underneath to curve over Jared's ass and haul him closer in the confines of the car. 

Heart pounding, Jared decides playing along is the safer option. He can make out with Tom, touch him, suck him off if need be, and then ask to be taken home. Tom begins unbuttoning Jared's shirt, kissing down his throat, open, wet kisses that make Jared want to flinch away. 

“I'm—” Jared holds Tom's head, trying to pull him away. “I don't think we should—”

“It's alright, baby, I'll take good care of you,” Tom murmurs, not pausing. He pushes open Jared's shirt.

“No, I really—”

“What the hell?” Tom flinches back from him. “Who put that on you?” he growls, eyes locked on Jared's neck.

He'd forgotten. “N-no one,” Jared stammers, frightened by the look in Tom's eyes.

“No one? Are you such a slut you can't remember?”

“No!” 

“It was him, wasn't it? Ackles.”

Jared feels his face heat, Tom reading the answer in his silence.

“You let him fuck you?”

“No! It wasn't—” Jared stops himself, taking a deep breath and exhaling. “I'm just gonna go. Thank you for dinner.”

Jared unbuckles his belt, getting out of the car quickly, ignoring Tom's affronted, “ _Jared!_ ”. He starts walking, but Tom gets out.

“Don't you walk away from me!” Tom grabs his arm, spinning Jared to face him. “I thought you were a decent Omega—”

Jared tries to pull his arm free of Tom's grip, stepping backwards only to have Tom move with him. 

“If I'd known you were just another one of his whores, maybe I would have just fucked you right off the bat instead of wasting my time.” Tom grabs both Jared's arms, holding him fast and shoving him back until Jared hits the concrete wall, trapped. 

“Please,” Jared begs. “Please let me go, you're hurting me.” He can feel Tom's grip bruising his wrists. 

“He's scum and you're willing to spread for him, but not me?” Tom's breath puffs hot over Jared's mouth before he presses down. The force of it knocks Jared's head back against the wall, presses his closed lips against his teeth, and he tries to turn his head to escape the kiss and the pain. 

Tom bites Jared’s jaw, and Jared's knee comes up on instinct, but it lands off-center, startling Tom back only a little. Tom growls, and faster than Jared can register it, Tom swings out, palm slapping against Jared's face and knocking him sideways. Jared stumbles under the force, his head connecting with the concrete pillar in a burst of pain, bright and sharp.

Jared's world goes black.

\- - -

When Jared wakes up, there is no disorientation or confusion over where he is. He stares up at the white ceiling, smells the antiseptic, hears the steady beep-beep-beep of a monitor and thinks, calmly, _I am in the hospital._

He tries to sit up, struggling against waves of dizziness when he moves his head. 

“Whoa, there! Let me help—” someone says, and a face swims into view.

Jared jerks back, pulling the wires attached to him and sending the bed rattling with the force of his move. The throbbing pain in his head spikes, making him cry out.

“Hey!” Tom's partner says, pulling his hands back, putting them up so Jared can see them. “Calm down. I'm not gonna hurt you.”

“What the fuck is going on in here, Jim?” 

Jared looks over, calming some at the sight of JD in the doorway. 

“Nothin', just startled him a bit, is all.” Jim backs off. “Maybe you can help the kid – seems he's not too keen on me.”

“Well, with that scraggly thing you call a beard, I can't say I blame him for being afraid,” JD teases, coming over to stand beside Jared's bed. “Here...” He helps Jared sit up, straightening out some of the wires that pulled with Jared's panic.

“You remember what happened?” Jim asks, sitting in one of the tiny, plastic visitor chairs.

“I... I won't press charges, if that's what you're worried about. It was an accident...”

“The hell it was!” JD exclaims, visibly reining himself in at Jared's fear.

“That's not a concern, Jared, I'm just lookin' for what you remember.”

“I remember fighting with Tom, and him...” Jared’s eyes dart uncertainly between the officers. “Him hitting me. I hit my head. That's all I remember, I guess Tom called 911?”

“No,” JD answers, apologetic. “That was me.”

That doesn't make any sense. Jared stares at him in confusion.

“Jensen might have asked me to keep an eye on you.”

“You were following me?”

JD tilts his head side-to-side, shrugging a little and looking anything but innocent. “Yeah, you could say that. I'm sorry I didn't stop him sooner. I was keeping my distance, too far away, it was stupid.”

“I'm pretty sure I was the stupid one,” Jared scoffs. “Thank you,” he adds, meeting JD's eyes so the Alpha can see he means it. 

JD scratches the back of his head. “Sure. I'm just gonna... go get Jensen.”

“Is Tom in trouble?” Jared asks. JD isn't gone yet, and Jared doesn't miss the look the officers exchange. JD leaves, and Jared turns his expectant look on Jim.

“Tom is... not going to be a problem, anymore.”

“What does that mean?” 

Jim's eyes lock with his and Jared can feel the man taking his measure. “Let's just say that Jensen handled it,” Jim rumbles. “And Tom is _never_ going to cause you any problems again.”

Jared licks his lips, swallowing a little, wondering if he dares ask if that means what he is already sure it does. “O-okay,” he stutters, the word whispery and trembling over uncertain lips.

“Jared?” Jensen doesn't pause, but comes straight to him, already beside him before Jared has even really looked up. He grabs Jared''s hand in his own, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “God, baby, you scared the hell out of me.”

There are dark shadows beneath Jensen's eyes, but the corners crinkle up happily at Jared. Jared looks at him, telling himself Jensen just killed a man, telling himself to be horrified, to pull away. 

It doesn't work. Jared is broken, he must be, because he cannot fight anymore and all he does feel is relieved and safe.

“Jaybird? What's wrong?” Jensen's touching him, thumbs sweeping over Jared's cheeks, expression turned worried. 

Jared doesn't realizing he's crying until a sob, choked and wet, tears from his throat. He draws up, curling in towards Jensen, hands gripping Jensen's shirt and pulling him forward. 

“Okay, okay...” Jensen murmurs, arms winding around to hold Jared to him. He strokes his fingers through Jared's hair gently, pressing chaste kisses to the top of Jared’s head as Jared sobs out every unwelcome touch and cruel word from Alphas past. “You're okay, I've got you.”

Eventually, Jared's sobs turn to sniffles and then nothing. Wrung out, he pulls back, looking up at Jensen. 

“Okay now?” Jensen asks, and Jared knows he must look awful, but there is nothing except affection and concern in Jensen's gaze.

“Take me home?” 

Jensen's eyes light and he kisses Jared, soft and deep. Barely pulling back, he strokes his hands down Jared's neck, fingers trailing over his mark. “Yeah, Jaybird, whatever you want.”

End.

**Author's Note:**

> In this A/B/O universe, betas are female, Alphas are male, and Omegas are males who have a penis, but no testicles. Instead, they have a vagina-like (but not *exactly* a vagina), self-lubricating birthing hole below their penis. Heats are mild, not all-encompassing and they last only a couple of days. Claiming is never permanent: you claim a mate by a bite/suck mark on their neck, but it will fade away if not routinely renewed. An Alpha having sex with a beta or omega will change their partner's scent temporarily as well, identifying them as mated.


End file.
